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- stapler – PostScript won’t staple two pages together on Konica Minolta
Device-dependent actions (like Staple, and also Duplex, Tumble, Collate etc) are expected to be controlled, in language level 2 or 3, by calling setpagedevice.
Some device-dependent features (eg Duplex) are well defined in the specification, others are less well defined and manufacturers can create key/value pairs of their own, which are totally undefined. The way the setpagedevice operator works it will ignore anything which it doesn’t understand.
So I would expect:
<< /Staple 3 >>
Not to do anything. That simply creates a dictionary with the Key /Staple and a value of 3, it then simply leaves that operand sitting on the operand stack, where it will remain until the end of the job.
Your other examples pass the dictionary to setpagedevice, so they might do something, though Collate and BindingLocation won’t affect stapling! Note that sending them at the end of the PostScript program won’t do anything useful, because by that time the program is complete and the pages will have been printed.
Its also possible that putting it on the front of the PostScript program won’t have any effect either, because its possible that the content of the program starts by resetting the device to its default state. If this is the case then you need to insert the setpagedevice call into the program at an appropriate place. If the program is DSC compliant then there is a defined location you can put it, if its not then all bets are off, frankly. But most PostScript programs are DSC compliant.
The problem is that the exact details of the required values are specific to the manufacturer, so its not possible to tell you what exactly you should use.
The best way to find out is normally to select ‘print to file’ and print a document with a setup which you know will enable stapling (by trying it out beforehand if necessary). Once you have that you can open the resulting file with a text editor and look through it for the stapling setup.
Unfortunately, the control panel of the printer can do all sorts of stuff, and may not even be controlling the printer via PostScript. Are you sure that this can be controlled via PostScript ? Have you tried contacting the manufacturer and asking their support department ?
If you can capture a program as above (ideally where the printed content is as simple as possible to reduce the size and complexity), post it to a public URL somewhere and then put the URL here. I’ll look at it. If you could post the PostScript program you want to modify as well then I can tell you where to insert the code in that program.
If you can’t capture a PostScript program, then I can’t think of any way, short of asking the printer manufacturer, to find a way to do this.
The PostScript program is the output of Ghostscript’s ps2write device, so I suspect that you aren’t using pdf2ps. exe but instead are using pdf2ps.bat, a command shell script which calls Ghostscript. You are also using an older version of Ghostscript (9.20). You should upgrade to version 9.25 (due out in the next couple of days) for security reasons.
But I still don’t know what the correct setup for your Stapling is. As I noted above, if you can print to the printer from your operating system, and get that to actuvate stapling, then you can capture the PostScript and extract the relevant portion from there.
But without that, there’s not anything I can really tell you.
As requested here’s the PJL (not PostScript) code form the original question, which apparently works for adding stapling):
@PJL COMMENT @PJL SET ORIENTATION = PORTRAIT @PJL SET BINDING = LEFT @PJL SET FINISH = LEFT1POINT @PJL SET EDGEMATCHING = FINISH @PJL ENTER LANGUAGE = POSTSCRIPT
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90,000 selected excerpts with comments by the author …
From the pages of the diary, a mother shares her thoughts and feelings with the readers, selflessly loving her three daughters, growing up and leaving home one after another; a woman tormented by passion, jealousy and longing for the past; actress and singer in the prime of her talent, enthusiastically received by the public. The first part of these diaries, The Monkey Diaries, was published by Sinbad at the end of 2019.
Complete information about the book
- Type of product: Books
- Heading: Diaries. Letters
- Intended Purpose: Fiction (Adult Editions)
- ISBN: 978-5-00131-230-7
- Series: Non-serial
- Publication year: 2020
- Number of pages: 477
- Circulation: 3000
- Format: 60×90 / 16
- UDC: 821.133.1
- Barcode: 9785001312307
- Add. information: per. with fr. A. Vasilkova, T. Chugunova, E. Leonova
- Binding: obl.
- Statement of Responsibility: Jane Birkin
- Weight, g.: 460
- Product code: 3374369
CNN (USA): Time to Look at the Dark Postscript for America’s Victory over the Nazis | Society | InoSMI
Last weekend, the US deported former Nazi concentration camp guard Friedrich Karl Berger. The deportation was hailed as a triumph of justice.Acting Attorney General Monty Wilkinson praised the work of law enforcement, while stressing that America “cannot serve as a safe haven for those responsible for the atrocities of the Nazis.”
The USA, of course, played a decisive role in the defeat of Nazi Germany. More than 400,000 Americans died in the war against Adolf Hitler. But this story also has a dark postscript that began with the end of World War II and which it is time to deal with.
US has become a haven for thousands of Nazis and their henchmen who served in concentration camps, death squads and the SS. Some even headed governments allied to the Nazis. And we did not just accept them – we even welcomed and protected some of them, in every possible way protecting them from justice. It is high time for us to admit it.
In addition to undeniable moral reasons, there are social reasons for such historical honesty. We are in the midst of a heated national dispute in the pursuit of racial justice.But how can we break with centuries-old institutions like slavery and Jim Crow’s laws of racial segregation, if we still cannot admit that we have warmed the perpetrators of the Holocaust – even though eyewitnesses of the Holocaust are still alive? Moreover: are his victims and veterans alive? We will not be able to get to 1619 ( year of the arrival of the first batch of black slaves from Africa to the USA – ed. ) until we pass through 1945.
A rare case in which the US government recognizes collaboration with the Nazis is the publication of Operation Paperclip, during which the US brought 120 Third Reich rocket scientists (including Werner von Braun) to work at NASA.Their work paid off when America launched a space project to land on the moon. And now – von Braun and others like him became superstars who were showered with compliments from the press and those in power in America.
© AP Photo, Wernher von Braun in Washington
However, Nazi scientists like von Braun are far from absent-minded professors who pored in their laboratories in ignorance of politics. They deliberately gave Hitler rockets with which Germany fired at peaceful Londoners and residents of other cities, and these rockets were built by the slave labor of concentration camp prisoners.There is ominous evidence that von Braun calmly visited these infernal factories, where prisoners were brutally beaten and corpses were piled daily. (Smithsonian Institution historian Michael Neufeld says that von Braun only indirectly mentioned slave labor in his responses to questions from the US authorities about his past, but did not admit full responsibility for the use of slaves.)
Operation Paperclip is tacitly portrayed as a single deal with the devil. They say, you understand: these people were Nazis, but the United States had to somehow win the space race.(In addition, Great Britain and the USSR also caught the scientists of the Third Reich, often at gunpoint.) However, even if we recognize this as the most dubious of the compromises, then Operation Paperclip accounts for only a small fraction of the Holocaust criminals and Hitler’s lackeys, whom America accepted.
Ukrainian collaborator Yaroslav Stetsko had no inclination for astrophysics. But he cleverly came out to arrange a massacre of Jews. On June 30, 1941, when Germany invaded Ukraine, Stetsko greeted the Nazis by proclaiming the creation of a Ukrainian state that intended to work closely with Adolf Hitler’s “great” National Socialist Germany back in the summer of 1941.Over the subsequent years of the war, the Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists * headed by Stetsko ( OUN – an organization banned in Russia – ed. ) killed thousands of Jews throughout Ukraine.Bild
At the end of the war, Stetsko, who enthusiastically wrote about the need for German methods of genocide to exterminate Jews in Ukraine, fled to America, from where he led the OUN for decades – handing in with the upper circles in Washington.Both Ronald Reagan and George W. Bush praised him as an ardent anti-communist and staunch freedom fighter. Stetsko died in 1986.
The fight against communism is one of the reasons why Western governments welcomed Stetsko and thousands of others like him. As World War II rapidly escalated into a cold one, Western intelligence agencies realized the potential of anti-Soviet groups to weaken Kremlin influence in Eastern Europe. As a result, those who fought against Moscow turned into valuable cadres.Moreover, among the most organized and zealous activists were fascists and anti-Semites, whose understanding of freedom and wartime experience included the ethnic cleansing of Jews and other ethnic groups in their homeland.
Kazis Škirpa, the head of the Nazi-allied Lithuanian Front of activists, who played a leading role in the extermination of Lithuanian Jews, shared these views. After the war, Skirpa moved to the United States and worked at the Library of Congress. And in the obituary, he is depicted as a victim of the Nazis.
Juozas Ambrazevičius (Brazaitis), another collaborator who signed the orders for the creation of the first death camp in Lithuania, also found refuge in America.So did Albert Wass, an anti-Semitic Hungarian poet who fought on the side of the Nazis. And Ferdinand Dyurcsanski, foreign minister of the puppet Nazi regime in Slovakia, who sent 68,000 Jews to their death.
In 1959, when the Anti-Defamation League raised questions about Gyurcsansky’s past to prevent him from obtaining an entry visa to the United States, the State Department replied that “membership in or belonging to a defunct Nazi party in itself is not considered a reason for refusal.”
And this is far from the only case when the West actively defended its cadres. In 1992, The New York Times reported on Nazi hunter John Loftus, who detailed the nefarious campaign of the Ukrainian nationalist Nikolai Lebed – as many as 100,000 Polish peasants were killed in his ethnic cleansing. Lebed, another Ukrainian nationalist, supplied the CIA with intelligence on the USSR for decades and was under protection. Judging by the report of the US National Archives on the basis of declassified CIA files, the agency was actively shielding it: it monitored the press and made sure that the federal ones followed to close the case.
And America is far from alone. Britain, which lost 384,000 soldiers in World War II, recruited people like the Estonian collaborator Alphonse Rebane, an officer in the 20th SS Grenadier Division, the Nazi Party’s military wing responsible for the Holocaust. For his service, Rebane was awarded the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross, the highest military award of Hitlerite Germany. After the war, he made a long career in British intelligence, supplying weapons to anti-Soviet rebels in the Baltics.The Guardian
The Nazis and their henchmen were also received by Canada – including at least 2,000 Ukrainian SS soldiers and collaborators from several other countries. In the Canadian case, collaborators played another role: suppressing domestic unions. Eastern European “anti-communists”, as the Nazi henchmen invariably presented themselves, were strikebreakers in their homeland to stop socialism. Unsurprisingly, industrial tycoons became interested in them, who lost the most from the activities of trade unions.
These and thousands of other Holocaust perpetrators received more than just refuge. They have a chance to fulfill the American Dream. Over the past 70 years, while their victims smoldered in unmarked mass graves, they grew old and raised children, built communities, churches and schools. They even have their own monuments: in America there are memorials to Nazi accomplices from Serbia, Lithuania, Ukraine, France, as well as from the republics of the former Soviet Union. You’ll find them in Illinois, New Jersey, New York, Ohio, and Wisconsin.
Indeed, it is significant that in three years of long-standing controversy over the relevance of statues to slave traders and colonialists, monuments to Nazi henchmen have somehow passed the headlines.
This is why we must end the consoling but false legend of a country with zero tolerance for the Nazis. The expulsion of the likes of Berger (who told the Washington Post that the case against him was built on “lies” and that he was 19 years old when he was “sent” to serve in the camp) is certainly a fair case.But we need to do more.
We must not only expel all the remaining Nazis among us, but also acknowledge the reason why they ended up here at all.
Lev Golinkin is the author of the memoir “A backpack, a bear and eight boxes of vodka”. As a journalist writes about the identity of refugees and emigrants.
InoSMI materials contain assessments exclusively of foreign mass media and do not reflect the position of the InoSMI editorial board.
AI: Is the singularity dangerous to us?
Recently, discussions about artificial intelligence (AI) in popular publications are starting to take an increasingly alarmist turn.Some are trying to prove that AI will supposedly oust 90% of people from the market, condemning them to unemployment and stagnation. Others go further and ask the question: does not humanity create for itself in the person of artificial intelligence an existential risk that no hydrogen bomb can compare with? Let’s try to figure it out.
Proponents of AI as an existential risk usually mean an “intelligence explosion” scenario in which a strong AI gets the opportunity to improve itself (for example, rewrite parts of the program code), thereby becoming even “smarter”, which leads to the possibility of more radical improvements and etc.You can read more about this, for example, in the AI-Foom debate between Robin Hanson and Eliezer Yudkowski , which discuss exactly this scenario. The main danger here is that the tasks of the “exploded” artificial intelligence may not correspond to the goals and objectives of humanity. An example beaten up in this thread: if the “goal of life” of a strong AI was a completely innocent production of paper clips, then a week or two after the “explosion” the Earth may well be completely covered with fully automated factories of two types – producing paper clips and producing spaceships that will allow start making paper clips on other planets …
Indeed, it sounds unpleasant.Moreover, it is very difficult to assess how realistic this scenario would be when developing real AI with superhuman abilities. This means that it is imperative to take it into account and try to protect yourself from it – I agree that the activities of Nick Bostrom and Eliezer Yudkovsky are not at all meaningless.
However, to me, a practicing researcher in the field of machine learning, it is obvious that this scenario is about such models that now not only do not exist – and will not exist for many, many years.The fact is that, despite the really huge advancement of artificial intelligence in recent years, it is still very, very far from any sense of “strong” AI. Modern deep neural networks can recognize faces no worse than a person, they can redraw the landscape of your summer house in the style of Van Gogh, and they know how to play Go better than any person.
However, that doesn’t mean anything yet; I will give a few illustrative examples.
- Modern computer vision systems are still extremely inferior to the visual abilities of even two-year-old children.In particular, computer vision systems usually work with purely two-dimensional objects and cannot develop any intuition that we live in a three-dimensional world; and so far this severely limits their capabilities.
- The limitation is even more pronounced in natural language processing. Unfortunately, at the moment it is far from the confident passing of the Turing test. The fact is that human languages very strongly use our intuition about the world around us. Pushkin in “Eugene Onegin” writes: “They put wax on the table // A jug with lingonberry water.”This proposal does not cause problems for us. But try to think: how do you know that the “waxed” table is here, and not the jug? If it were not “waxed”, but “glass”, it would have been more like a jug, right? And there are a lot of such examples; but models working with natural language have no such intuition.
- And in the so-called reinforcement learning, with the help of which AlphaGo was also trained, the problems with computers are mainly with motivation. For example, in the classic work by Vladimir Mnikh et al., A model based on a deep neural network was trained to play various ancient computer games by simply “looking at the screen” using pictures from the game.It turned out that this is quite possible … with one exception: the game points still had to be submitted to the entrance separately and the models had to be specially indicated that they should be collected as much as possible. Modern neural networks cannot figure out what needs to be done by themselves; they have neither the desire to expand their capabilities, nor the craving for knowledge inherent in humans.
Will neural networks ever overcome these obstacles and learn to generalize heterogeneous information, understand the world around and strive to learn new things, as a person does? Quite possible; in the end, we can cope with it somehow.However, now these problems seem extremely intractable, and there is absolutely no chance that modern neural networks will suddenly “wake up” and decide to take over the world.
However, I really see a big danger in the wave of hype on AI in general, and deep neural networks in particular, that has risen in recent years. But this danger, in my opinion, is not from AI, but for AI. History has already known at least two “winters of artificial intelligence”, when too big advances and promises, too active waves of hype led to disappointments.Ironically, both “AI winters” were associated with neural networks: first, Rosenblatt’s perceptron in the late 1950s was immediately tried to turn into machine translation and computer vision systems (of course, unsuccessfully), then in the late 1980s, neural networks, which already had a fairly modern structure, could not learn well due to the lack of data and computing power. In both cases, heightened expectations resulted in long periods of stagnation in research. Let’s hope that with the current, third wave of hype of neural networks, history will decide not to repeat itself, and even if today’s inflated promises do not come true (and it will be difficult for them to come true), the research will continue anyway …
And a little postscript: I recently wrote a short story highly relevant to the topic of strong AI and the associated dangers.Try to read it – I hope you will not regret it.
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90,000 Get together, rag!
Sometimes starting a new business is much easier than starting one yourself. All of us entrepreneurs love to build subordinates about consistency and responsibility. Themselves, in the majority – terribly inconsistent and rather irresponsible. An entrepreneur is a strange person.On the one hand, all the time with numbers, and on the other, most of us are humanities and creative individuals. Read – chronic gouging. My case! Almost clinical! The editors’ assignment to write about self-motivation took me by surprise. Honestly, it’s the morning of the article submission day, and the reason for the delay is disorganization.
Also in this issue of the magazine “Mobile Trade” No. 15, 10/2011:
For most people in the world, money is the best motivation.It would seem that for an entrepreneur they should be all the more tempting and necessary. Not. They don’t help. At night he will be engaged in a cab to pay the rent, but to work better – no, no! How to be? Are our mothers right when they constantly say – FIND YOURSELF A NORMAL JOB? Let’s try together to figure out how to motivate yourself.
The first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word “motivation” is endless demotivators. If they help you distract yourself from work, perhaps motivators will help you focus on it? Hang them everywhere – on the mirror at home, in your car, on your desk, in your diary.In our office, here and there, there are signs with the words “Don’t create – go to (_ * _)”. Motivate. Write on your monitor “Work, bitch” – this inscription, short and capacious, will bring you back to life if you suddenly think about it.
Clear planning of goals helps to get together a lot. Break big tasks into small ones. Of course, the director must solve global problems. So he turns from an entrepreneur to a thinker. Work! Crush as small as possible. Check the boxes.There will be many ticks, there will be an incentive to work even harder. Work is very contagious. Checked.
I gave up my diary. The diary is evil. You write a to-do list in thirty-minute boxes. As a result, some things get dragged out, and you freak out that you are running out of time and are off schedule. Others you snap like nuts ahead of schedule, and then – what are you doing? Right! Angry birds!
I write a to-do list in a notebook, draw a small square in front of each – I will put a tick in it when I have done everything.When the editor Dinochka says that I am great and the article has been accepted, I will also tick the box. The list is constantly growing. Scrolling through a notebook all the time is boring, and somehow you instinctively eat up stale tasks. The completed pages can be bitten with a paper clip or secured with an elastic band. My Moleskine has a built-in rubber band.
By the way, buying a new to-do notebook is also a great motivator. And buy a pen. A good one. Feather. Or gel. Or whatever will look at you.Choose carefully. Perhaps this particular pen will become your magic wand.
There is one more know-how. I make to-do lists in the morning. Of course, the skeleton of the day has already been formed – meetings, agreements, some routine matters have already been written down. But small things and routine – it’s better to write in the morning. After all, in the morning I have a good mood and a fit of optimism. Perfect soil for an effective day.
Everything! This is the last page of Mobile Commerce. We put aside the magazine and get to work! Stay calm and carry on!
You can find other articles by Mikhail Vinogradov on his blog mikevinogradov.ru
90,000 PS, or Post Scriptum (continued). Dmitry Bobyshev. Seven Arts, No. 10 – LitBuk
(end. Beginning in No. 6-7 / 2019)
And it was good for us and so. The telephone in the apartment of the Gorokhovsky brothers (Galina’s cousins) was straining from unusual calls – the journalists somehow figured out my whereabouts, and I listened to a lot of fantastic suggestions and assumptions … Not enough, however, it came true.
But here we are with Galya in the editorial office of Echo Moskvy, a radio station gaining popularity with a non-standard style and fresh voices.Live. The young interlocutor has wonderful lively eyes, pleasant intonations, smooth, gurgling speech and an absolutely delightful Moscow dialect, which I have lost the habit of in my “abroad”. You even have to look away from the young lady, so as not to stare. Outside the window are brick walls of a not very comfortable district of the capital. Of course, we are talking about poetry, but, alas, I have nothing connected with this city. And I read to Moscow – “Petersburg inhabitants of heaven”!
“Echo” is one of the newest factories for generating fame, but these are just radio waves, and my otherworldly images quickly disappear, dissolving in the nervous capital air, where everyone feels a special “feel”: the close presence of power.Suddenly, an overbearing bark is heard in a swearing man, a moment of street life stops, the flow of second-hand foreign cars freezes, and an imperious perun flies through the freed highway in blue-red flashes, ready to hit any ill-intentioned, or even just a sluggish onlooker. But the authorities are in a hurry, they have no time for that, they do not notice human trifles, striving for their prohibitively high goals, be it an official lunch and a summit meeting or health training and massage followed by a game of badminton.
And now Galya and I are entering the editorial office of Znamya, they have not yet left Bolshaya Sadovaya, the entrance is from Malaya Bronnaya … During perestroika, they took from me large collections of poems. And now there is a review of Nyman’s book “Lions and Gymnasts”, which he called so cool that I applauded from across the ocean. And he called his article – “Shine on the edge.” Surprisingly quickly, a fee was issued to me and immediately issued. Here we will have lunch! But first you need to go to Natalya Ivanova, thank …
The owner of the magazine kindly poured tea into our cups.And at that moment the door opened and Evgeny Borisovich Rein himself appeared-not-dusty in our eyes. Long time no see! Gray, thinned, bald. Only the same eye looks at me, black, sideways, with disapproval from under a thick eyebrow – unnatural, too black, really made up for gray hair? We hugged, and I barely resisted the avaricious, male …
I didn’t hear any “hello” befitting a meeting from him. Sitting down at our tea table, he announced without preamble:
– I am a professor at the Literary Institute … Full professor! I received the State Prize in the Kremlin! I received the Poet Award! I received our Pushkin Prize and I will also receive the German Pushkin Prize from the Topfler Foundation! In the fall, I will become an honorary doctor at Yale.
There was a pause after such thunderous statements. A “symmetric” report was expected from me. I remembered a favorite quote from Pasternak, or rather, from his translation of Titian Tabidze:
Who rose like a bomb,
Stuffed with fire at dawn?
What do you say similar, what would
did not the talker-self-praise affect?
Truly … I could also recall Naiman’s sarcastic play about how literary prizes are won. But my answer was deliberately humble:
– Well, I congratulate you, Zhenya, on such great achievements.And I, too, as you know, a professor at the University of Illinois. I did not strive for awards, but I have some fame in the literature. You may have heard of such reference books as “ Who is who (who is who)” – for example, who is who in America, in World poetry, in the World, finally. So, they send me their questionnaires for reprints, and there I always write in the “awards” column: “Anna Akhmatova dedicated the poem“ The Fifth Rose ”to me as a poet. And you know, it looks great on their pages, no worse than any awards!
And only then I realized what a deep prick in my heart I, without even thinking, inflicted a former friend: after all, as you know, from our four, Brodsky received from Akhmatova the “Last”, Naiman – “Unprecedented”, I – “Fifth”, and he, Raine, had not been honored with any rose.
The three of us went out, as in the old institute days, and I invited him to go and have lunch with us, but where? – He’s a Muscovite now, let him point out.
“The Central House of Writers is nearby,” Raine perked up. – They serve branded, the world’s best cutlets de volai!
Soon we found ourselves in that legendary hall, where writers with drunken fearlessness found out who is who in literature and the world, where the most poisonous epigrams sounded, where the most sonorous slaps in the face were heard, which Leo Khalifa, who had already departed to the best worlds, told about it in the eponymous (“Central House of Writers”) a novel, or, as they would say now – a “blockbuster”, which served as the last kick that sent him into exile.
The room was dark and empty, the light came only from the showcase of the sideboard, which was also quite empty. Soviet classics – the restaurant is closed for lunch! Here is your “de-will” … Rein grabbed himself from the buffet two last sausages, Galya and I got a mini-salad in modest faience bowls.
The metro station was on the opposite bank of the Garden Ring. It was rush hour. “Avtodors, avtodors!” – panicked the thawed “bug” from the play by Mayakovsky, who got to Moscow of the future. Here we are in the same position.Not autodors, but Mercedes – used, but “like new”, Audi, Lexus, Hondas, SUVs and other sedans and antelopes rush, wagging, humming, emitting sirens screams and belching of poorly repaired engines, occupying six lanes in one and six in another side … We are standing at a traffic light. It’s still hard to embarrass Americans with traffic, but we’re shocked. Here pedestrians are given a green light, and cars go and go on a red light! Finally, with a group of high-risk pedestrians, we set off across the traffic. Twelve lanes must be crossed in seconds! Someone slows down, someone runs over, trying to slip in front of us.The inspector’s car with flashing lights stands at the crossing, but it is ignored by both drivers and pedestrians. Uh, where didn’t ours disappear? We are going, as if to death, as the White Guards-good soldiers went to the red machine guns …
Already you, the capital is white-stone, red-toothed, reinforced concrete!
Ball at the Governor’s
Petersburg celebrated its 300th anniversary. A government invitation came in my name to the Slavic Department of the University – no, not from the White House in Washington, but, which is also not bad – from Smolny, from the governor’s estate of the city of St. Petersburg! This was answered by Natalya Igorevna Batozhok, dean of the pedagogical institute, where I once read lectures on emigre literature – the hostess of the upcoming celebration.Our administration, like any other, respects such papers, and I received the travel grant without further ado.
And early in the morning, in a white jacket bought especially for such occasions, I speak at Chapygin 6, at the address that was confined in one of my previous lives – I play in front of the cameras of a successful emigrant who visited his homeland with teachings from another civilization. Fake role! But I like that the city was tidied up for the holiday, that the electric trains, at least along the Oranienbaum branch, have no broken windows and cut seats, I like the freshly painted poles at the stations, and, finally, I liked the fountain opening celebrations in Peterhof-Petrodvorets! What’s wrong with that ?! Well, in the evening – a new production of The Queen of Spades at the Mariinsky, where Gergiev conducted without a magic wand, it was a ballet of a special kind in itself …
Let my former classmates despise me both for my jacket and for the role of an international tourist, but Galya and I went to a reception to the governor, arranged in the open air in the courtyard of the Peter and Paul Fortress.Each of my visits, I have been to this place – once I talked with the Angel of the West Wind, removed from the spire for repair, and even touched his heel with my hand. In his former life, he gilded in the window of my room in a communal apartment on Kronverkskoye … Another time it was a Shemyakin copper seat – a statue of Peter with a small bald head, a long body and worm-like fingers on the armrests, sitting in an armchair opposite the cathedral where he is buried. The crowd talked about him – “unlike” so confidently, as if they could see the emperor himself, and did not know that the artist was sculpting from a plaster mask removed from his real living face.And yet – I was here at the burial of the remains of the last tsar and his family, when the newly gilded angel shone as a guard there, in the thrown up height, and the whole city acquired its status and meaning under him.
The governor was drunk. Figures with vaguely familiar faces swirled around him — they were “cultural figures.” He glanced unseeingly when Batozhok introduced us, and we went to the tents with refreshments – all the set of food appropriate for a wide gulba. The stage roared. The buffet was in full swing. Skinhead tattooed brothers, disarmed by the guards at the entrance, dragged barbecue, salmon and other snacks to the high tables placed everywhere.There was a friendly buzz. They drank new vodka, finally not fired, but guaranteed purified and refined, called “Russian Standard” with restraint and dignity. All that was missing was a solid sign at the end. It was poured in silvery bottles into piles in tents and carried on trays by the damsels in mini-dresses, but not sewn from fabric, but linked by chain mail made of silvery corks. It was a vodka benefit – even more than that of the governor or the City.
A corignon, repaired for the holiday by a Dutchman specially ordered from abroad, began to play, the chimes and bells rang out, the tune of the tsar’s anthem began to be guessed in the bells, and Galya and I solemnly (albeit drunk) withdrew, without waiting for the fireworks.
No, not all my classmates and classmates disdained me for a flashy jacket: some of them came to a performance in the Fountain House. And he privately reported on his own successes: one left a business card, where he was listed as co-president of the company, the other announced his baptism in Christ, and we parted three times with him.
When work is fun
The university was not a miser, and the professors took advantage of this, adding to their “pieces of eight” – as the salary was piratically called here – various grants and aid.It was only necessary to confirm the scientific nature of my expenses: to provide printed articles, speeches, reports … I did not bother with large projects, although there was this, and so I was content with trips to conferences that were held in different high-profile places – within and outside … of the city, knocking about on the sidelines of hotels, sitting with friends in a bar, wandering around museums … What could be better? True, for this it was necessary to attend to and make a report, which then turned into a journal publication.But for the Slavic Association it was only possible to read poetry, and this was equated with scientific performances. Was it equated? Well, no, on the contrary – this is their supposedly scientific babbling, we add passionately – at the time of the conference, so be it, equated to our harmonic word …
However, Slavists also had bright glimpses, and sometimes downright fireworks, as, for example, in Mikhail Epstein, who has not yet been awarded a Nobel prize – he hilariously convincingly compared The Tale of the Fisherman and the Fish with the Bronze Horseman, and deduced from them – hocus-pocus – a single plot!
But we had Psoy Korolenko, who could play anything, even on a stool, and sing in a tinny voice “In the Cape Town port with cocoa on board” with variations in Yiddish, as well as “Ah, Russian blizzards” about poor Radishchev- Potemkin, who was being taken to the Ilimsky prison for some reason in a green carriage, where they “cried and sang in Blok” … How he wanted to get a prize then – the Golden Lyre! And the prizes were still given out by me, being the chairman (charman) of Poetry reading panel .Not a gold one, of course, but its symbolic bronze copy from my stocks was received by Polina Barskova for a poem about her father, poured out, by the way, for my father’s daughter. She herself is a portrait of him, she wrote about him in a portrait: about an erudite and a liar, about a pathetic, ironic, but charming egocentric who littered the world with children and poems …
Where was it? And, it was in San Diego, and Galya and I were accommodated in a hotel on departure, from where the participants were taken to the conference by a shuttle, well, not to say “shuttle”, at 8 am.No, we preferred to have breakfast first (buffet: eat as much as you like), and then walk along the trail, skirting the lagoon. Bushes of oleander and hibiscus bloomed magnificently on the way, the eyes were dazzled by turquoise and the glitter of the sun in the sea water; hummingbirds flew into the open Chinese roses and, hanging weightlessly, instantly disappeared, smearing neon paint through the air. Low, sturdy mansions with observation windows approached the coastal path, and one could see how family life was going on inside, as if on a stage: in artistically decorated interiors, elegant people set the table and sit down to breakfast, not paying attention to the glances of passers-by.Or maybe it was we, passers-by, who were the stage characters, bringing to life for them the view of the lagoon, which had been boring over the years? Then it was a mutual theater.
Apophez was the final reading of poetry and the reception a la buffet on an old ship. Apparently, these were the ones who drove around the Mississippi, being the captain, Mark Twain. Two tall pipes protruded along the sides, in front there was a spacious hall with a circular view, and a diesel engine knocked at the stern, rotating the paddle wheel of this pseudo-steamer.So we rolled away from the pier, exotic views swam before our eyes, and the Slavists pounced on a treat: fruits, cheeses, all kinds of crunches and shaving brushes, as well as tiny snack sandwiches pierced with a miniature banderilla. But our captain, organizer, or who else did not regret drinking either? Chablis was served in carafs, burgundy in bottles. The poetesses blushed, the poets relaxed and hardened, the Slavists divided into animatedly chatting groups. Galya found friends, me too. A certain Gulya from St. Petersburg came to us on Vasilievsky in the other hemisphere almost yesterday, and then she showed up on board the steamer – how so? Won a green card in the lottery, and here she is.And I am asking Miz Zaitseva, Valentina, how did it happen that we, glimpsed in front of each other at past conferences, met only today?
– Oh, I’m already as old as the mountains … – the beautiful Valya laughs.
– There are also young mountains, – this Gulya tells me a compliment.
Here are such resourceful and lucky win the lottery, and not some worthless prize – America!
With a detached, completely non-peaceful face, Felix Rosiner went from one group to another, recruiting, and already gaining success, a writer.It was noticeable how reverently the interlocutors treated him. His poems “did not seem to me” when he read them with some ringing tears, not quite adequate to the text. His novel “Someone Finkelmeier”, as I knew, received many accolades and even more was expected from the author, but not so much that here, on this ridiculous steamer, envelop him with especially delicate attention, like something fragile, ready to break …
And he, it turns out, was already sick, and his colleagues knew the diagnosis. Cancer.
Moscow is calling you
A sign of recognition flew into our Illinois outback in the form of a letter from the Moscow City Duma signed by Yevgeny Bunimovich.This was already a post-Soviet official of a new formation, apparently, slightly above the average hand, something at the level of a state councilor, if you count it according to the very old. They called me to take part in the Poetry Biennale-2003, which will be in Moscow from 21 to 25 October this year. The invitation was in correct English, and in general – this kind bureaucrat also turned out to be a poet, and not one of the last! He belonged to the mob that followed the “smogs” that were raging, and, like others in that troubled time, did not miss the chance for a bureaucratic career on the wave of transformations.He made poetry material, removed punctuation, loaded it with a concept, encouraged him with postmodernism, and this is what he did:
wearing a hat
pulling out keys
knocking out light
Isn’t it, somehow cinematically scrupulous, but impressive! In general, I should restrain my irony here, but you shouldn’t feel sorry for the observer either.”Irony and pity” – where does all this come out unbearably and inappropriate? Answer: from the old man Ham read in his youth, from the boring games of long-dead people, that’s where it comes from. Well, take this trash deeper into the pantry or throw it out altogether! Let us arm ourselves with gratitude, especially since the poet and the official, while providing a comfortable overnight stay in the capital, realized that I would still have to look for other help. Travel grants for scientific purposes, for example. Scientific or not, but maybe another invitation will help – and he sent me a letter from the Pen Club.
The letter contained a noteworthy document, the content repeating the invitation from the Moscow Duma, but … There was the signature of Andrei Bitov, Pen-president, writer and famous brawler; the sheet with the official heading was severely crumpled, then carefully straightened, stamped and sent in a separate envelope. I can imagine such a scene on Neglinnaya Street, 18/1.
IN PEN CLUB
The office of the President of the Pen Center is a room stretched out to the window, most of which is occupied by a long oak table without chairs.At the head of the table, in a single wooden chair, sits, his bald head with a noticeable defect in the skull, Andrey Bitov: chopped facial features, bags under his eyes, a wet mustache. A knock on the side door.
Bits : Login!
(includes member of the board Bunimovich and secretary general Tkachenko, mutual greetings are heard)
Bunimovich : Here’s the deal, Andrei Georgich, in the fall we will organize another Biennale … Moscow is a city of poets! We invite Russian-speaking colleagues from abroad.With housing – no question, the hotel Russia is still a waste, we will settle there … But with tickets here and back, we will not pull, let them take care of themselves. But we need to help them, at least with an additional invitation from the Pen-center. We have already prepared the text in English.
Tkachenko : And the seal was set …
(sends the letter)
Bits : Well, that’s a good thing.
(signs the letter, then recovers)
What did I sign here? Suddenly, self-denial was slipped to me …
(trying to read English)
Bunimovich : This is to America, to Professor Bobyshev, a poet, with an appeal to local organizations to help …
Bits : (his face turns red with indignation):
To whom? Bobyshev? What do you mean! Do you know who he is? He took Marina away from Brodsky! And so – like that? Yes, I – no way!
(crumples the letter and throws it away from him on the table)
Bunimovich : Yes? I didn’t know … But I had already sent him an invitation from the Duma.
It’s not going well.
Tkachenko : This is nothing, now we will do everything!
(neatly straightens the letter, smoothes it on the table, puts his signature under Bitovskaya and leaves the office with the letter)
Bunimovich : Thank you, Andrey Georgich!
The Rossiya Hotel, built in the 60s in Zaryadye to the groans and sighs of local historians, towered right behind the Cathedral of St. Basil the Blessed, suppressing the squat district, and was one of the loudest propaganda objects under Brezhnev.I also wandered around there “in those days,” as our nanny Fedosya used to say, and even then I perceived the ascending many-windows of the hotel as an insult – to whom? what? – and to the same blessed Basil, the same charming Church of the Conception, in which, for all her humiliation, there was a museum of … samovars! And in the 77th, with the same secretary general, a mysterious fire broke out, people burned down and a rumor was spread about arson, in connection with which the cops shook up the passports of the dissidents of the two capitals with interrogations like “where were you so and so, then? “.Me too. They interrogated me in the jail, annoyingly repeating the same question until I pulled out my crumpled passport from their tenacious fingers.
And now I have moved into “Russia” as an overseas guest. Yes, the views from the windows are good, but the corridors are desolate, the rooms are cramped, the furniture is crappy, the air is stale, and the prices in the buffers are going through the roof! The hotel was doomed to be scrapped.
But everything was close from there, although the meeting places were scattered along some courtyard passages and paths, where clubs with big names were located, such as, for example, “Classics of the XXI century.”What, however, impatience – the century was just beginning, and they were already … But foreigners (and I was) were given canvas bags with festival programs of events, and this bag on my shoulder made me stand out from the others. And I didn’t promise …
On the sidelines, among the unfamiliar crowd, familiar, albeit aged faces began to come across: here is Slava Lyon, here is Misha Gandelev! Restrainedly embraced, veterans and giants of the XX century; a treat appeared, and Len immediately at a high table took me to the Academy of Russian Verse, of which he was president.Suddenly becoming an academician, albeit a funny one, was funny … And it’s okay that some young classic snatched a dish of pies from under his nose – Handelev managed to hold on to a bottle of cognac.
Len put forward the theory of the metaphysical matrix, which I allegedly developed, and Brodsky borrowed and appropriated. Examples: my “Winged Lions” and my “New Dialogues of Doctor Faust”. Well, how to say – we learned from each other, of course, there were mutual borrowings … As for the Dialogues, yes, I started writing them after a conversation with Joseph on this topic, having gathered to give him a sample of a metaphysical poem, like I imagine it – a kind of standard or even a visual aid … It is clear who was the deliberate addressee of this thing, and could have become Akhmatova, who has long suggested that we try the Faust theme “by the gut”.In a dispute between two voices, I intended to give an increasing series of contemplations, or speculative experiments about space. The writing of the poem was accompanied by all sorts of dramatic events, it received a different development and therefore, after finishing, I wrote under the title not some kind of pseudo-mysterious “M. B. “, and without equivocation the following:” These experiments are dedicated to Marianna Pavlovna Basmanova “, which is why the poem immediately took on an outwardly defiant form. But the voices in Dialogues were hers and mine.
Meanwhile, the festival roamed in breadth across the entire Ivanovskaya, walked along Tverskaya-Yamskaya, and then rolled deeper along the bends of the lanes, where the halls and venues for performances were located.It was there that the famous Moscow get-together took place: there were presentations, celebrations, buffets, the winners were crowned, prizes were awarded to notorious candidates. In a word, a young life was playing there … Yura Kublanovsky, who was not yet mature and not at all bronzed at that time, intercepted me very successfully, with his former classmate, and now almost an oligarch Sasha Zhukov, and we fervently rode a Land Rover through the monasteries of the Moscow region …
And I had another author’s evening in the nice cafe-club “Pirogi”, where I had previously tried to eat with festival coupons.The snacks were good, the dinners were rubbish! And everything went wrong in the morning … By the way, having met by chance, Alekhin, editor-in-chief of “Arion”, warned me that there would be no mediator at my evening. Everyone, they say, is busy at other sites. This immediately threw me to the periphery of what was happening. And I was hoping to present a new book of poems “Zhar-Kust”, which was published in Paris by my correspondence friend, well-wisher and sponsor. Polygraphically, it turned out to be charming, but let the poems – poems be appreciated by today’s Muscovites who come to listen to them.Will they come? We urgently need to find a person who would introduce me to the public, – Olga Kuchkina willingly agreed to this role. We met her at the height of a Moscow day somewhere in a publishing center, where I received a stale fee, and by the time I found her, rush hour began in the city. Do you know what rush hour means in a big city? I thought I knew from my driving experience in New York and Chicago … But such a crowd, senseless and merciless, I have not yet seen. We got into the Olgin Beemveshku and immediately found ourselves locked by other people’s bumpers and sides.Immediately on the steps a certain lover of yelling appeared and from the dais began to “sew the cork”, loudly commanding who and where. I have not heard such a shameless mat at full volume neither in that millennium, nor in this one … Catching my hating eyes with his pupils in his pupils, he slightly reduced his rage, and Olga at that moment deftly steered into the stream of rushing cars.
Something was obviously wrong in the Pirogov club hall. Young people came in purposeful groups (aren’t they my readers?), Asked the waiters something anxiously, and then disappeared.And they scurried, placing tables around the hall. To my puzzled questions, I heard: “The room has been ordered for a banquet!” Indeed, a row of shifted tables against the wall was already a rather impudent semblance of Leonard’s “Last Supper”, and, alas, not my guests were already seated there. They were waiting for the hero of the occasion. And here he is! It turned out to be Bakhyt Kenzheev, who had just received the main prize from Bunimovich’s hands and decided to immediately celebrate this case. How so? I show the chronotope in the festival schedule: here and now my author’s evening should be! Bakhyt disappears, then appears with a languid apology and invites you to join … Well, no! We will sit on the sidelines in bitter and proud humiliation.
I must say, Olga Kuchkina turned out to be a great fellow and waited out this difficult hour without leaving me. And my godson, who was weak on his head, who had come with the little girl, could not resist the temptation and went over to the feasting …
Nevertheless, my evening took place, a belated audience came, Olga was at her best, I also cheered up: I read poems from Zhar-Kust, inscribed and handed out my precious book just like that. And Andrei Gritsman reproached everyone who was jubilant, idly chatting, wiping away the poet Bobyshev, “our emigre Derzhavin.”
The final day was held in the club “On Brestskaya”, a stone’s throw from the monument to “the best, most talented poet of our Soviet era,” and, in a very local way, the club itself was located on Second Brestskaya, and you had to enter from First.
Well, nothing, the people had enough room, the young classics of the 21st century this time were goody, like schoolgirls with a cool lady, since the evening was led by Irina Dmitrievna, the authority among literary men is unconditional.
I was convinced that this lady is really cool at a public lecture she gave at our University of Illinois.First of all, her impeccable English, noble tone, natural manners made an impression against the background of our academic dorks – may my midwestern colleagues forgive me, but in comparison with her this is so. In the conversation after the lecture, the idea somehow spontaneously arose to print my book of poems in her publishing house UFO, and what then? – it was soon published under the title “Dating Words”!
And here we are sitting side by side in the club “Na Brestskaya” in front of an attentive crowd, she herself listens with interest as I now act in the same capacity as her.
(performance at the Moscow Poetry Biennale-2003)
Whatever country a traveler finds himself in, he cannot consider himself an emigrant as long as he retains the right to return home. The impossibility of returning, the terrible word “never” turns exile into a semblance of nothingness. The first man Adam was also the first emigrant; after their expulsion from Paradise, he and our foremother Eve experienced this feeling in its entirety. One of the first literary emigrants, Ovid Nazon, also put an equal sign between exile and death, in the steppes of Hyperborea he yearned, but continued to write.Our Pushkin, exiled to the same region, was also sad and angry, but he composed “The Gypsy”, began “Eugene Onegin.” I will not draw unnecessary parallels, I just want to place noticeable landmarks within the topic. The great exiles did not accept their fate voluntarily, and I myself wanted to be ahead of my generation restricted to travel abroad. Perhaps that is why the state of rejection seemed to me as a natural continuation of Soviet life and, in any case, not as gloomy as it sounds and looks in written form.It even seemed to me, and it still seems to me, that the decision to leave was timely and successful, and I began to consider the experience of experiencing emigration and survival in it as an exceptional, even elite school of life, a kind of additional “higher education”.
I left my country with a Soviet foreign passport issued for one trip. At the same time, the OVIR official rather kindly warned me that upon arrival in America I would exchange it for a passport of a different series – for multiple trips there and back.Having sincerely thanked the official, I tried to do so. But from the Soviet consulate they sent me the same passport, only with a registration and renewal stamp. That is, it remained a one-off, and on a trip back was subject to delivery, and at best I would have to start the whole Ovirov procedure all over again. Thus, I received an unambiguous hint that I was not going back, and overnight I became an emigrant of the so-called Third Wave.
And the outstanding poet and literary historian Yuri Ivaska, whom I caught alive in his last years in America, had a chance to emigrate twice: with the First and the Second wave.In the foreword to the anthology In the West, which he compiled, Iwask wrote: “Emigration is always a misfortune, but it is also an exciting adventure of a lifetime.”
Many exiles among the post-revolutionary emigration willingly agreed with the first component of this formula, for in a foreign land they were deprived of their fortune, position, and their usual way of life. Of course, this is a misfortune. But here they discounted an important circumstance, which was perfectly taken into account by the military or post-war emigration.Freedom – this is what they were granted by all the unhappy circumstances of emigration: in many cases, tongueless wandering around the world, and hard work (and, moreover, necessarily below the true qualifications), and the burdens of not merging with a foreign culture, but still freedom! Even if she was not on the shoulder for everyone and for the good, it was not for nothing that Berdyaev characterized her tragic qualities, emphasizing, however, that freedom is the air for creativity. Who, if not a writer, should appreciate this first of all!
But there remains the second component of the Iwaska formula – an exciting adventure of a lifetime.With her, I think any emigrant can agree – moreover, from each of the three waves, unless he pretends to have settled in the most boring “country of dentists”. On the contrary, streams, floods of novelty flood emigre life at first, and even later the whole world remains open to the free wanderer. So, there is freedom, and there is an inexhaustible source of new impressions – what else is needed for a writer in exile?
One more factor remains: language, language environment, or rather, its absence.In Soviet times, there was a legend about the inevitable depletion of the creative power of emigre writers, cut off from the sources of living folk speech, but that was only a legend, moreover, a propaganda one. True, she was supported by Alexander Zinoviev, who claimed that he could find ten times more stories in the Moscow line to a beer stall than in all the years of his life abroad. However, his own literary biography refutes this statement: while living in the West, he published dozens of sharp talented books.Now he is again in Moscow, (I hope, in good health), but somehow little is heard about his new works. True, there are no longer queues for beer. It is not necessary to give the great examples of the Parisian Turgenev and the Roman Gogol, and they were not emigrants, but London Herzen was. In addition, it so happened that in the twentieth century, the greatest artisans, the most subtle stylists ended up in emigration: I mean Tsvetaeva, Bunin and Remizov (their language did not deplete at all, but, on the contrary, blossomed in the absence of a linguistic environment) and, of course, Nabokov, who, in essence, was born as a writer already in exile.
This means that the legend was initially wrong, especially for the Third Wave, released from a sealed Brezhnev bottle like a genie. For them, emigration could not but become a school of freedom, a complete (psychological, linguistic, economic) restructuring, which happened 15 to 20 years earlier than the restructuring arranged by Gorbachev. The creative intelligentsia, which remained at home, was suffering the novelty. The expats, too, have not all turned out to be good students. Had a researcher found in due time, the literary life of the Third Wave could become an experimental laboratory for him to study the behavior of writers under conditions of change and freedom.Moreover, the conclusions would not only be positive.
Indeed, let us take a few examples, going back about a quarter of a century ago and compare with what is happening now in the already essentially unified modern literature.
Abram Tertz, who wrote his provocative “Walks with Pushkin”, while still in the camp bunks, was able to deliver this essay only in emigration, where he demonstrated a whole set of destructive techniques that are now widely used by criticism and literary criticism in his native Russia.He also tried to deconstruct (that is, to simply debunk) two of the biggest figures in the Russian Diaspora – Solzhenitsyn and Maksimov, but luckily for all of us, he failed, although both targets of his attacks probably suffered significant damage in terms of their reputations. and influence in the West.
By the way, about this influence of the writer on the public, about his teacher’s traditional, sometimes even prophetic role for Russian culture: now everyone with rapture, even with some joy, is disowning it, and I remember how in 1980 in Los Angeles at the émigré congress, which was called “Two Literatures or One?” Limonov boldly proclaimed that he was relinquishing the title of a Russian writer, along with his teaching role, and henceforth recognizing only commercial interests.Many supported him then, and it was unclear, and there was no one to say that great works certainly have commercial success too, but not necessarily instantaneous, and sometimes only stretched out for years and even centuries.
Limonov sounded then uninhibited and fresh, but in fairness it should be noted that he was not the first to declare war on the literature of ideas. The first was also an emigrant and also an ethical provocateur, Vladimir Nabokov, a great esthete and evil scoffer, who made fun of the names of the “sacred cows” of Russian literature.Taste, however, kept him from the last temptations of freedom – from the temptation of the ugly, from vulgar vocabulary and intestinal physiology.
Could this little keep from foul language such a freedom-lover as Yuz Aleshkovsky? Of course not, and what does the taste have to do with it? Lack of censorship naturally breeds obscenity. However, the story “Nikolai Nikolaevich” was born back in the samizdat times, but already in 79, all his works strewn with obscene gems began to appear in the West.Of course, swearing is a purely domestic phenomenon, but before it flourished only in everyday life. In emigration, Aksyonov or Dovlatov could often discredit their texts, other free writers sometimes fell in the same direction, but Yuz Aleshkovsky made foul language the main stylistic device, and he himself became a kind of “anti-star” of the abscess carnival and, of course, the closest forerunner of the carnival Russian. I remember how, on the sidelines of the same Los Angeles forum, I finally decided to express to Aleshkovsky, and to other writers who were present there, my opinion about this speech phenomenon in general, both in everyday life and in literature.I said that in every swear word I hear both its literal and symbolic meaning, and therefore I absolutely do not accept verbal obscenity. How did Aleshkovsky answer? Looking into my eyes and clearly provoking, he laid a clear curse on me. I did not succumb to the provocation, but only said that I share Fr. Sergius Bulgakov, who assumed that this very common mockery of the image of the mother and, therefore, the image of the Mother of God, and, consequently, of our entire land, in some secret, magical sense, turned out to be the cause of Russian catastrophes and atrocities.
In response, Aleshkovsky covered the Christian relic and our common homeland with obscenities. Seeing that he completely exposed himself to the brothers-writers, and among them to Dovlatov, I considered it indecent to spit, turned around and left. I was sure that someone from those present would certainly describe such an eloquent scene, and I was not mistaken in that. The only mistake was that I underestimated the writer’s sophisticated ability to perjure. That dialogue was nevertheless described by Dovlatov (and the episode was published later), only I am present in it under my own name, and my opponent acts as “writer N.N. with his characteristic colorful manner. ” Thus, the witness hid the name of the offender, and the offended one exposed me to show off among the disgraced shrines. I take this opportunity to reconstruct that episode in its entirety.
Gone are the days, and since then “profanity” has become a favorite not only for modern Russian playwrights and prose writers, who thus reproduce the “living speech of their contemporaries”, but also for poets and poetesses (which is even more piquant), and especially for linguists , which are overwhelmed by the previously forbidden, but still desirable, albeit poisonous delicacy: encyclopedias, Internet sites, whole volumes of “sacred” letters appear, corresponding festivals and contests take place.
As for the “forerunner,” he received the German Pushkin Prize for all his services to his native literature, which caused the Germans themselves to be in a state of shock for several years. Of course, Alexander Sergeevich in his early years did not disdain profanity, but still it is strange: is there any confusion here, would not the Ivan Barkov Prize be more suitable for the work of Yuz Aleshkovsky?
And one more degree of freedom was tested by the mysterious writer of emigration Yuri Mamleev, long before all-Russian freedom – he developed a special style and language for depicting in his fantasies a whole world of ugly, terrible, simply disgusting images.And this seemed interesting and attractive to the writer himself and to some of his critics, perhaps because of its uniqueness. Such aesthetics is alien to me, but by some admirers he was declared a mystic, which already places him in literature above his usual position. After all, there are very few of them, seers. I used to think that mystics were poets like Lermontov and Daniil Andreev, or the English William Blake, who saw angels and demons, but it turns out – waste of the body and lustful corpses – this, in the opinion of connoisseurs, is mysticism …
Mamleev’s literary views, very clearly expressed in the articles, cause me, if not agreement, then understanding, but the images of his fantasies do not in any way make me his adherent.However, in today’s literary Russia, he found himself surrounded not only by admirers, but also by jealous rivals within the same strange anti-aesthetics that fascinate publishers and critics, and even commercially successful …
However, not relations between people, even if they are brothers in the pen, – relations between languages seem to me now the most pressing problem in today’s Russian literature. It seemed that this complexity should arise only in emigration with its daily bilingualism, but now it is even more acutely manifested in the metropolis itself.I mean the dominance in modern Russian of Anglicisms, or rather Americanisms, and even their general invasion of Russian speech. For the emigre everyday speech, this is quite understandable: after all, in the Soviet past, not everyone heard about such concepts as inches and pounds (although they existed), so it seemed quite legitimate to replace them with “inci”, “pounds” and “mails” – instead of book-sea “miles”. And, accordingly, instead of much else. But, in a strange way, the emigre Russian literature turned out to be extremely strict: no “Volapyuk”.Well, perhaps the Israeli writers did not bother to translate into Russian the obvious for them – “Ashkenazi”, “Aliyah” and similar concepts.
Surprisingly, despite the noticeable anti-Americanism, Russian literature (or at least the youth press) found itself in a romantic relationship with English. It is precisely in the press, which is now looking for its own language – sometimes witty, often cheeky and always modern – that barbarisms (nothing barbaric, of course, containing nothing) poured in, but nevertheless irresistibly, tasteless and excessive.Somehow even obsequious. This also includes the new literary criticism in its young tests. It’s like a verbal immune deficiency, complete language insecurity. Note that emigre literature has nothing to do with it. The mainland is also holding on at the very least; fortunately, this diagnosis is not confirmed. But journalism, especially related to the entertainment industry, finance and computer technology, was completely captured by the English language. A similar phenomenon was ridiculed about 200 years ago by Ivan Myatlev in the image of Madame de Kurdukoff; about the same mixture of “French and Nizhny Novgorod” Griboyedov sarcastically.As a result of the French invasion, uncomfortable, unwilling “menus” and “coats” remained in the Russian language; exclusive performances ”, I won’t put my mind to it. And – “blockbusters”! And here’s another: would you like to do “arm wrestling”? However, as a teacher, in the classroom, I offer my American students a task: to shift these concepts “from bad English to good Russian”, and well – they sometimes successfully cope with this.A good language does not have to be crystal-clear, it can be heterogeneous or variegated, but still organic.
I think that our “great and mighty” will someday laugh at his voluntary surrender in front of English and will put forward new Griboyedovs and Myatlevs in order to dispel the darkness of alien discourses.
All this is not a problem: there would be only freedom.
Moscow Party (end)
After the lecture, Igor Pomerantsev and I stood with glasses in our hands, as at the western party , exchanging remarks and looking at the literary youth, who selflessly proceeded to a free meal.We, who had just spoken, who had recited poems and a report, worked out our own, listened to us, and they were no longer interested in us. Only one person, already dressed in a long coat and a hood stylized as a Turgenev young lady, hesitated to leave and was clearly circling before her eyes. I got dressed and went out with her, we talked a little, – what about? – about literature, of course. And that’s what came of it.
From the crowd of nichevoz,
like more than once in the old days,
took the Volga girl
and carried away by the wave.
From the Slavic party
and from a delicious freebie, alas,
smoke in layers
he took him out into the wild.
In the Eurasian capital
she and I became foreigners,
in the outfit “even to be slimmer.”
Scribbled about texts,
where every word is pearl.
I thought simple:
– Where would we go now?
It turned out – nowhere. But never mind.
Will the Neva be considered with the Volga?
There will be no revenge for the past,
and today – barely.
I looked at the young photo:
here with him, and used to do business.
Where, in what gene pools
then, without being born, did you sleep?
would not give tender rewards,
if only this one went
to my helipad.
But when life is finite,
these are the ones that cling to
to the famous old men
in the raisins of their late minutes.
Avisaga quickly, not Delilah,
like a wave on the pier,
I gave it all,
and – goodbye!
It turned out to be out of the way with her, and I walked unsteadily up from Triumfalnaya Square in the direction of “Russia”.It was too late. It remained for me to cross, not without fear, Red Square, invisibly pierced by the beams of power, so that, passing to the left of Vasily the Blessed, descend into Zaryadye and go to the hotel. The policeman stopped me with a baton.
– No further.
– How to get through? I need to go to “Russia”!
– The passage is here, – and he waved to the left.
I turned into an alley where the gloomy bulk of GUM towered. Some figure rushed past, overtaking me with a stomp and dropping something on the panel.Another dark figure immediately appeared.
– Oh, it’s money, look! – said a certain type with feigned joy, picking up the fallen pack. – It’s dollars! What to do with them?
– Give it to the owner.
– So he ran away. Let’s share, let’s go somewhere here …
– Why me? – I said, sober.
– So we found it together! – he said, showing twenty with Andrew Jackson.
Then it dawned on me that the trap was about to slam shut – an alarm flashed in my mind from a combination of miltons with bandits, bandits with miltons – and I dashed away into some gap between houses, lined with cars …
… While I was collecting my belongings in the room, there was not much sleep left, and I took my things to the attendant along the corridor.Soon I was already racing in a private car through the empty open spaces of the street to the airport … Home, home!
For two houses
While our relatives were alive, we annually visited them, as well as the friends who remained there and the City itself, and, consequently, the whole country, which has already become not ours, but RUSSIA , if you pronounce its name in English. These long, sometimes exhausting flights were planned in advance for some speeches, conferences, reports that had to be first composed, written and then delivered, but they were the ones that attracted grants that provided, at least partially, our transatlantic expenses.But what about the open world, and the sacred stones of Europe, and the palm trees and beaches of exotic islands? They did not have enough time or money – except to stop for a day or two on the way to Rashenka in London, then in Amsterdam or Paris … Airports with their planetary architecture and crowds of aliens from other worlds became the norm, like a forest or field, for our busy runs from one terminal to another, or agonizingly nervous expectations between flights. A motley picture of human races, faces and garments then passed before the eyes.
The time has come to put up for sale Galina’s apartment, which she had been renting out to a needy family for many years – she had rented it out “for good”, and even deducted from her account for any breakdowns and domestic crises: the family turned out to be with problems. Things were missing, the apartment went haywire. No, the guests had their own living space, which, by the way, they rented out to others, preferring to live with us “for free.” When the buyer arrived, the brass handles and locks on the doors were screwed together. Nevertheless, the deal took place, the tenants moved out.Now it was necessary to completely ruin the family nest: to cleanse the remaining books, letters, photographs, houseplants, furniture and paintings – whether by giving away, selling, or throwing it into the trash along with the remaining trash. It turned out to be a traumatic and even dangerous occupation in its own way, – the hunters and buyers, like mushroom pickers in Valery Popov’s story, “walked with knives.” Gray-black wolves danced menacingly around the unremarkable landscape of the last century in an expensive frame. Whether they steal, rob, or kill – it was equally possible and, on the whole, “dumb” …
And suddenly – crash! Everything changed: Galya was hit by a car.She called me from the street and, as if proud of her luck, said that she hadn’t hurt her head … But, God! – arm, shoulder, lower leg, knee … We went by ambulance to Leninka on Vasilievsky Island, waited an hour, another with broken bones, and no help, the only way to the morgue … No, away from there – to a paid clinic Scandinavia – maybe my credit cards will be enough for treatment . There were enough of them.
Now there was a Herculean feat to take her home across the ocean with two transfers to Chicago, transfer her completely worn out to a bus, get half-fainted to her native terminal in Champaign, and then what? Well, okay, wait for a taxi and go home, but how can you get her to the fourth floor?
The fire brigade, consisting of four heroes, who did it all out of a sense of duty, helped!
Soon we moved into a one-story house with a lawn and a garden.
“The presenter Ivan Tolstoy raises acute, often painful, questions of the Russian cultural process: are the established stereotypes true, are the assessments fair, are these or those cultural figures deservedly exalted and unjustly forgotten?”
It was this preamble to a cycle of broadcasts on Radio Liberty that made me turn to Ivan Tolstoy, a journalist and literary researcher. Indeed, if he is engaged in such difficult tasks, then is it not time for us to shake up old assessments, to understand the prevailing mythology, to bring to light the figures that turned out to be retracted in the corners? It seemed to me that Count Tolstoy had enough courage for non-standard statements, and I sent my “Chelovekotekst” directly to the Prague editorial office for his review.So what then? Soon he himself appeared in our “Champagne County”, in other words, at my home in Champaign, Illinois. Instead of the printed review of the trilogy, which I would like to receive from him, he proposed to conduct a radio talk, dividing it into hourly programs, respectively, for each volume. This was much more attractive to me, albeit more difficult, since the conversation was recorded without preparation, impromptu.
At the very beginning of our conversation, the interviewer explained where my comic imposture comes from: from the name of the place where I live and where I accept a descendant of another, more or less real, “red count” Tolstoy.This could not but cause a surge of humor at the table, when we clinked glasses of good vodka with him and drank to the health of “their excellencies.” But seriously speaking, I myself, of course, do not call myself a count, because I am not. “The Count of Champagne” is just a character that I invented, awarded the title and presented with a long series of poetic handicrafts: epigrams, parodies, fables and puns, denoted by genre “berries”.
This is how it is presented to the Internet public in my LiveJournal:
“Not only readers, but also critics, and the literary colleagues themselves know little about the Champagne Count.We can say that almost nothing. But he, judging by his “Berries”, knows a lot about the morals of his fellow writers, preferring, however, to speak out only occasionally, and even then in a short form. “Berries” are, in essence, the ripe “Flowers” of his indifferent attention to literary life, to those entertaining poses that it sometimes takes. His Excellency himself is not averse to prancing around on the keyboard of his Macintosh, although he realizes how his maxims and aphorisms are inferior to the lofty models that were established in his native literature by his great predecessors: Kozma P.Prutkov and Dmitry A. Prigov. Let us be condescending to his quite commendable aspirations to achieve them. ”
Of course, I treated the guest with frivolous works of my character, choosing those that are more grateful. Well, for example, these are the most velvety ones (and an inquisitive reader can find others from a footnote, especially since a whole book has already been published in the Literary European in Frankfurt am Main):
In good imitation of St. Francis
I would treat my friends with beer and sausages
regaled, Assisi flowers …
But for those of them who have become ugly,
the flowers are already ripe with berries.
Here and there
He himself was a member of this party:
“Communists, to New York!” – at the end he wrote.
And – with the benefits of a “refugee” – here and the donkey.
Like, and you, a dissident who served time, is a donkey.
For the unemployed from the Brooklyn Bridge
(it is thrown across the East River)
it would have to fly, which is not easy,
the entire Babylon of Manhattan growth,
to get into the blackening Hudson.
I would sit, draw the WINDOWS OF GROWTH …
– If you don’t know, don’t write. This is the law.
Law of Nature
Cupid sometimes shoots by.
And antipathy is mutual.
Amendment to the classic
An unprecedented dispute once held
at the very gates of Paradise.
– I’ll buy everything, – said gold.
– I’ll take everything! – cried the damask.
– I will rot for all … – the blato was silent,
pouring out into Hell slowly.
The rest was Pushkin’s grip!
How is it correct?
Chekhov for a snack of vodka
cleaned the herring from the head …
Or from the tail? From his tip,
doubting the correct habits
, alas, I can not figure it out.
Moderation and accuracy,
in an oblique ruler notebook,
in his mouth with his tongue resting,
he writes, sweating, trying to …
Four, do not give any more!
It also happens
Poetics of the poet.
Ethics is poetics .
He loved glory, but could not stand the Slavs.
The berries were tart and pungent enough to stir up a guest, but Tolstoy condescendingly listened to examples of the “low genre.” Then I read more:
Arranged from English
You’re cool, and I’m cool.
But who will give the tombstone salute to whom?
He was very surprised at this, exclaiming: “Yes, this is Brodsky!”, And accurately quoted the original in English:
Sir, you are tough, and I am tough.
But who will write whose epitaph?
“Really? What an amazing coincidence! ” – I had to play along with him and feign surprise. No, Tolstoy decidedly disliked Champagne, and he removed it, along with Berries, from the air, leaving only in the title. Thus, he took and identified the author with the character, which, in principle, is not supposed to be done. But the program itself was, of course, about something else …
Navel of the Earth
“Oh, Garden, Garden!” – admired Velimir the First Zoological Garden, whose characters reminded him now of grimacing mountains, now of the heroes of the era.Ours resembled a rest – the final and therefore especially sweet – a stormless bay, a dock. “Böcklin, Böcklin!” – in one voice we said with my Galina Romanovna, when we went there for the bride of a possible purchase. This kind decided everything. The soft wall of dark tall thujas converged at an angle with another similar wall, thereby forming a perfect volume: a garden with an oval lawn, in the center of which, like a young prince, an ash tree rose. Its foliage threw split shadows on the lawn, and its base was hidden by the blades of a decorative hosta.Böcklin, about whom Ilf and Petrov scoffed, appeared to us fresh, freed even from his mourning content. How? Why? After all, he is a decadent, praising the other world. Because he built a harmoniously perfect space, full of peace, free from distortions of fate, from its twists. It’s good there, “in a bright place, in a harsh place, in a deceased place” … I dreamed of getting there, but certainly still alive!
And now it became the point from where my evening meditations come with a glass of the usual liquor, which is not too harmful to my health.Its recipe is simple: a shot of good vodka, tonic water, ice and a piece of fragrant lime. We were sitting here with Count Ivan with this drink, having finished our business. For three whole hours our interview sounded on the air, after which it remained in the annals of the radio station, “where it will be kept until the sun is shining,” the journalist assured me so colorfully.
The connection that did not work out for me with Rasha was established here with America. And not through the local language, – it remained for me a service one, and not through the starry stripes of political culture, which, however, I respectfully accept, but through the umbilical cord of the land and property, through the cube of space bounded by thujas and the oval of the lawn with this, alas, a dying ash tree, for the worm of the emerald bark beetle has wound up in it, which has already exterminated all ash trees in two neighboring states.We’ll have to cut down the tree. Sorry. But his stump will remain, and around – a round dance of green blades. And the stump can only be kicked according to the behest of Alyosha Khvostenko, or put a pot of geranium on it and declare it self-centered as the Navel of the Earth, in a distant parallel to the Navel that is in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.
“The feeling of immensity” is the title of the last book of poems about America. On its cover there was an engraving of Flammarion turned from left to right, which depicts a traveler looking beyond the edge of the World – to where the forces and wheels of the Universe move.And at the same time inside the book itself. That traveler is me.
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90,000 USA it’s time to admit that they gave many Nazis the “American Dream” – InoTV
Although the United States officially recognizes cooperation with the Nazis only within the framework of Operation Paperclip to recruit scientists from the Third Reich, in fact, America has sheltered thousands of former supporters of Adolf Hitler, according to CNN columnist Lev Golinkin.According to the author, today it is not enough to deport rare discovered criminals – it is necessary to “put an end to the pleasant but false idea” that the US does not tolerate the Nazis.
The United States recently deported former Nazi concentration camp guard Friedrich Karl Berger, Ukrainian-born American publicist Lev Golinkin writes in an article for CNN. This step was touted as “triumph of justice”. Acting Attorney General Monty Wilkinson praised the work of law enforcement and stated that US “is not a haven for those involved in Nazi crimes” .
Only the author of the article disagrees with this statement. Of course, the United States made a tangible contribution to the victory over Nazism, and World War II claimed the lives of more than 400,000 American soldiers. However, there is “gloomy postscript” , which cannot be ignored today.
As Golinkin recalls, after the war, the United States sheltered thousands of Nazis and collaborators, some of whom were even political leaders who collaborated with the fascist regime. “We didn’t just give them shelter – in some cases we welcomed and protected them, hid them from justice. It is high time to admit it ”, – the author asserts.
In addition to “obvious ethical reasons defending historical justice” , there are also social reasons for this. Now in the United States, the topic of racial injustice is vividly discussed, but how can one recognize the negative impact on certain segments of society of such ancient institutions as slavery, when Americans cannot be completely honest about providing asylum to people involved in the Holocaust, whose victims are still alive and that’s it remember?
Operation Paperclip is a rare occasion when the US government officially admits collaboration with the Nazis.As part of this mission, 120 scientists from the Third Reich, such as rocket scientist Wernher von Braun, were recruited to the United States. After moving to America, he began working for NASA – the operation paid off, as a result, the United States was able to send its rocket to the moon, and German specialists were widely recognized.
However, as Golinkin emphasizes, scientists like von Braun also designed rockets for Adolf Hitler, who used them to bomb civilians in London and elsewhere.These same experts were often present in factories where forced labor of prisoners was used.
“Paperclip” is presented as an exceptional example of “deal with the devil”: “Yes, these scientists were Nazis, but the US had to win the space race” . In the end, the USSR and Great Britain were also engaged in the recruitment of specialists from the Third Reich. Nevertheless, this American operation includes only a small fraction of Hitler’s supporters who have been accepted by America.
Among others, Ukrainian collaborator Yaroslav Stetsko received asylum in the United States. During the war, he supported the Nazis and was a member of the extremist Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN-B), whose members killed thousands of Jews throughout the republic. While in America, Stetsko became the head of the OUN-B and was included in the highest echelons of power in Washington. Presidents Ronald Reagan and George W. Bush saw him as an anti-communist freedom fighter.
Opposition to communism has often been the reason for granting asylum to thousands of Stetsko’s like in Western countries, Golinkin notes.As the Cold War replaced World War II, Western intelligence services began to realize the potential to support anti-Soviet groups to weaken the Kremlin’s influence in Eastern Europe. As a result, people who opposed Moscow became valuable resources – and often the most organized and zealous were the fascists and anti-Semites.
Such was Kazis Škirpa, who during the war led the Lithuanian Front of Activists, who played a major role in the massacre of local Jews.Skirpa subsequently fled to the United States and worked at the Library of Congress. Juozas Ambrazevicius-Brazaitis, who signed the orders for the creation of the first concentration camp in Lithuania, also found refuge in America. As well as the Hungarian poet Albert Wass, known for his anti-Semitic views and who fought on the side of the Nazis. Like the former foreign minister of the pro-Nazi regime in Slovakia, Ferdinand Dyurcsanski, who organized the deportation of 68,000 Jews.
Moreover, when in 1958 the Anti-Defamation League tried to prevent the issuance of an American visa to Gyurcsansky, the State Department announced that membership in the disintegrated National Socialist German Workers’ Party “in itself no longer serves as a reason for refusal.”
As Golinkin points out, the Nazis were welcomed not only by the United States. Great Britain, which lost 384 thousand soldiers in World War II, gave refuge to the Estonian collaborator Alphonse Rebane, who later worked for a long time in British intelligence, establishing contact with anti-Soviet rebels in the Baltic States. Canada has sheltered at least 2,000 soldiers from the Ukrainian SS unit and collaborators from other countries. Here they successfully served as strikebreakers and helped suppress local trade unions and socialist sentiments.
According to Golinkin, all these people received in the West and especially in the United States not only asylum, but also a chance to realize the American dream. “Over the past 70 years, while their victims lay in the pits, deprived of even proper burials, they grew old, started families, established relations with neighbors, built churches and schools,” , the author emphasizes. Some were even erected with monuments – they can be found in Illinois, New Jersey, New York, Ohio and Wisconsin.