Хороший политик сумеет подать даже Страшный суд как наиболее демократичный. (Леонид С. Сухоруков)
Была бы шея, – только выйди замуж.
the tensions of post-soviet russia: nobody knows how to laugh at venedikt erofeev’s moskva-petushki anymore. how we laughed - a temporal marker.
i see i have a draft i wrote entitled “no symbols where none intended,” and imagine, it didn’t become a post! it was not properly born (smiling, at my own joke).
jacob, i called you “yasha” in my diary sometime in my first days of russian 1. it’s also my dnevnik, or my jour-nal; i’ve mostly abandoned it and its idea. usually reading my previous entry annihilates whatever i’d intended to create upon opening the journal. a poem, today - mysl letil kuda-nibud’.
akhmatova wrote poems reviving the 19th century ‘fragment’ form. we don’t know what’s happening before nor after her short poems, we see just a glimpse, and she speaks in a very special acmeist form of metaphor, giving us nouns and concrete images that indicate so many things: akhmatova’s broken a heart, and she is pulling her glove off her hand and putting it onto the other, anxiously…
enfin, seuls!
i watched a documentary about paris 1900 at the museum. so frivolous, so decadent, and what i like of that time period is slavic: moravian mucha, symbolist blok. but mayakovsky has captured my heart most of all. he wore a bright yellow jacket around everywhere, a detail that i love.
[edit] i’m going to read proust in the library until i can settle down and focus on any of the following necessary things: russian poetry translation (akhmatova, mandel’stam, khlebnikov, mayakovsky), an accompanying translation project-paper (mandel’shtam), beckett’s “malone dies” and 10-page essay, midterms next week, and reading bulgakov.
babel made an incredible speech in 1934:
And so occasionally some really rather dejected-looking character will suddenly start shouting about how happy he is and start trumpeting and booming all over the place, making a spectacle of himself that is liable to make people sick.
But that individual with government-issued eyes becomes even more frightening when he feels he has to tell people about his love. Love is spoken of in unbearably loud tones in our land nowadays and if I were a woman, I’d be terror-stricken. If it goes on like this, our eardrums will burst; if it goes on like this, declarations of love amongst us will soon be made through a loudspeaker, like announcements in a sports stadium. Things have already reached a point where the objects of our love have been forced to protest…
…I am suffering from a hypertrophy of that feeling [respect for the reader]. I respect the reader so much that it makes me numb and I fall silent. And so I keep silence…
The Party and the government have given us everything, depriving us only of one privilege - that of writing badly.
It must be said frankly, without false modesty: it is a very important privilege that has been taken away from us and we took full advantage of it.
he anticipates the style of silence - being silent in an official way, writing for the desk drawer, writers surviving by doing translations (anna akhmatova could recite dante in the original).
i’m learning that lenin had concentration camps in the north (gulags before stalin, i mean), one could still vote for other-than-stalin in the 1930s, and the archaeology of the word happiness in the soviet union.
god, i had to get all of this out of my head. it was heavy, carrying it all around.
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Къде го стяга цървулът?
Sullair S-65
Забавный грибок
Контакты
Опасности Крыма…
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