samizdat-test

The Soviet-Russian Issue

Samizdat Magazine Venedict ErofeevAndrei TarkovskiMikhail BulgakovMikhail Bakhtin

Yuri LotmanDaniil KharmsVladimir VysotskyYuri Gagarin

Remarks on this magazineThis magazine is published every second month (or whenever someone

has something smart to say). It’s a dialectic projekt consisting of pictures and text. These two parts are in fact one. The aim of the magazine is to

relaunch the age of enlightenment.

In the magazine you’ll see:-Contemporary thoughts of the highest clarity.

-The texts are to be seductive, like pictures!-Only the clearest of thoughts/pictures/quotes (as clear as a diamond!)

Index

Venedict Erofeev p. 4

Andrei Tarkovski p. 15

Mikhail Bulgakov p. 17

Mikhail Bakhtin p. 33

Yuri Lotman p. 57

Daniil Kharms p. 69

Vladimir Vysotsky p. 103

Yuri Gagarin p. 127

4 Samizdat Magazine - The Russian Issue

Part one Venedict Erofeev

Samizdat Magazine - The Soviet-Russian Issue 5

The odd thing about Venedict Erofeev is the fact of his enormous and on-going fame in Russia. In any Russian book store you’ll find his collected works, and often you’ll find several different prints. But he’s has only written one full lenght work, which is about 100 pages long. The book is called: Mocsow - Petushki.

You’d have to take a long hard look into the history of Russian literature to find an author as loved as Venedict Erofeev. And you propably wouldn’t find one. Erofeevs short novel has taken it’s place in minds and hearts, and the novel fills a place in literature, which can’t easily be explained, but which can’t be disputed. The story of Moscow-Petushki is quite simple. A man gets on a train from Moscow. He’s leaving for Petushki. That’s it. At Petushki his woman is waiting for him with their son. And she has a pony-tail from her neck to her bot-tom. That’s it. And he’s bought chocolates for his son. It’s quite simple. But he’d liked to have seen the Kremlin before going to Petushki, but hes been trying to find it a million times, but he cant’ seem to find it.And on the way, from Moscow to Petushjki the story treats the subjects of life and death, religion and reality. But it

would still be wrong to say that these subjects are treated with any seriousness or the stilystic magnitude, which normally gives access to the great halls of literary fame. The novel is written in the worst russian language there is (Mat - sort of like a poetic-drunken-swearing), and if it ever reaches any altitude, it would only seem to come from the fact that the book is a copy-paste-collection of the great russian literary tradition. In stead, the novel seems to go down the drain from page one, and the only ac-tion seems to be the main char-acters constant falling - again and again, he falls. But in this perpetual falling, this insist-ing on writing nonsense from start to finish, you can’t help but being touched. One would be the meanest of judges not to

be compelled by this pathetic appeal. At the same time, his constant foregrounding of his human flaws seems the antith-esis of the system which he was brougt up under: The Soviet. If there is one language the Soviet System couldn’t (and wouldn’t) comprehed, it’s bab-ble, if there’s one line of history they couldnt see, it’s constant regression, and if there’s one language they don’t like it’s the discourse of non-conformitism. This is why the novel was newer published uncen-corded in Soviet-Russia. The simple story of a drunk falling apart, was too harsh a pill for the system to swallow. Instead the novel was published as a samizdat novel - a self pub-lished novel - untill the novel had spread throug the whole of the Soviet Union.

Venedict Erofeev 1938-1990

It’s hard to explain


Petushki Center


Meddelelse fra forfatteren

Førsteudgaven af ‘Moskva - Petusjki’ blev hurtigt revet væk takket være det fak-tum, at den kun forelå i ét eksemplar. Siden da har jeg modtaget mange bebrejdels-er for kapitlet ‘Serp i Molot - Karatjárovo’, og det ganske ubegrundet. I indlednin-gen til førsteudgaven advarede jeg alle piger om, at de burde bladre forbi kapitlet ‘Serp i Molot - Karatjárovo’ uden at læse det, eftersom der efter sætningen “Og jeg drak øjeblikkeligt ud” fulgte halvanden side ufortyndet sværgen, da der i hele dette kapitel ikke var et eneste anstændigt ord bortset fra sætningen “Og jeg drak øjeblikkeligt ud”. Med denne min samvittighedsfulde meddelelse opnåede jeg kun, at alle læsere, især piger, straks kastede sig over kapitlet ‘Serp i Molot - Karatjáro-vo’, selv uden at læse de foregående kapitler, ja selv uden at læse sætningen “Og jeg drak øjeblikkeligt ud”. Af den årsag fandt jeg det strengt nødvendigt i andenud-gaven at smide alle bandeordene væk fra kapitlet ‘Serp i Molot - Karatjárovo’. Det er bedre sådan, for det første fordi man vil læse mig i den rigtige rækkefølge, og, for det andet, ikke vil blive stødt.

Venjédikt Jerofejev


The Kremlin - Moscow - 2008

“Alle siger: Kreml, Kreml. Fra alle hører jeg om det, men selv har jeg aldrig set det. Hvor mange gange (tusind gange) har jeg ikke fordrukken eller fuldesyg krydset Moskvá fra nord til syd, fra vest til øst, fra start til slut, ad genveje og afveje - og ikke en eneste gang har jeg set Kreml.” (p. 17)

Not

e Venja cris-crosses Moscow in the way of a Russian orthidox. From Head to solar Plex-us, from right shoulder to the left.


Between 1958 and 1975 Yer-ofeyev lived without propiska in towns in Russia, Ukraine, Belarus and Lithuania, also spending some time in Uz-bekistan and Tadjikistan, doing different low-qualified and underpaid jobs; for a time he lived and worked in the Muromtsev Dacha in Moscow. He started writing at the age of 17; in the 1960s he unsuccessfully submitted several articles on Ibsen and Hamsun to literary maga-zines.[edit]Literary heritage

Yerofeyev is best known for his 1969 poem in prose Moscow-Petushki (several English translations exist, including Moscow to the End of the Line and Moscow Sta-tions). It is an account of a

journey from Moscow to Pe-tushki (Vladimir Oblast) by train, a journey soaked in alcohol. During the trip, the hero recounts some of the fantastic escapades he partic-ipated in, including declaring war on Norway, and chart-ing the drinking habits of his colleagues when leader of a cable laying crew. Referred to by David Remnick as “the comic high-water mark of the Brezhnev era”,[1] the poem was published for the first time in 1973 in Jerusalem immediately making Yero-feyev famous throughout the world. It was not published in the Soviet Union until 1989.Of note is his smaller 1988 work, My Little Leniniana (Moya malenkaya Lenini-ana), which is a collection of Lenin’s quotations works

and letters, which shows the unpleasant parts of the char-acter of the “leader of the proletariat”.Yerofeyev also claimed to have written in 1972 a nov-el Shostakovich about the famous Russian composer Dmitri Shostakovich, but the manuscript was stolen in a train. The novel has never been found.Yerofeyev died of throat can-cer. Before his death he fin-ished a play called Walpur-gisnacht or Steps of the Commodore and was work-ing on another play about Fanny Kaplan.


“... når jeg leder efter Kreml, så ender jeg ustandseligt på Kursk-banegården.” (p. 17)

Kursk trainstation - Moscow 2008


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ityVenedict Erofeev was born in the small settlement Niva-2, suburb of Kandalaksha, Murmansk Oblast. His father was imprisoned dur-ing Stalin’s purges but survived after 16 years in the gulags. Most of his childhood Yerofeyev spent in Kirovsk, Murmansk Oblast. He managed to enter the philology department of the Moscow State University but was expelled from the University after a year and a half because he did not attend compulsory military training. Later he studied in several more institutes in different towns including Kolomna and Vladimir but he has never managed to graduate from any, usually being expelled due to his “amoral behaviour” (free-thinking).


Venedict came to the prestigiues universtiy, as a need boy living on fruit-compot. In under two years he transformed into a notorius drunk, claim-ing that he would spend new years eve 1959 in the toilet - alone - with two bottles of vodka.A

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26 Samizdat Magazine - The Russian Issue Samizdat Magazine 26

CHARMS OF ENTROPY AND NEW SENTIMENTALITY: THE MYTH OF VENEDIKT EROFEEV By Mikhail Epstein What is the end of a century? A calendar date, an historic landmark, a sum of ac-complishments, the wisdom of experi-ence? If we agree with Andrei Bely’s penetrating pun, namely that “[T]he in-dividual is the face of the century” (che-lovek — chelo veka), then the end of the century is the image of the people who have brought it to its end, who personify this end. The face of the waning nine-teenth century was seen in Friedrich Ni-etzsche and Vladimir Soloviev, who em-bodied the quintessence of their times and offered parting words and warnings to the coming century. Many ideas and judge-ments sum up the nineteenth century, but who can now remember them? What we remember are not so much the words of memorable individuals as the facial ex-pression, the gestures and intonation that marked their destiny. While destroying old mythologies, history is constantly creating new myths to personify its fundamental ideas. There are great myths and small myths, univer-sal myths and local myths, metropolitan and provincial ones. Yet even in the small myths the wholeness of the human char-acter is such that not a single feature can be removed from this character without violating the overarching idea embodied in it. Such an embodied idea cannot be ex-pressed abstractly, even if one were to try to do so in a hundred treatises but it can be observed in a contemporary, whom pos-terity rushes to include in “the category of young legends”[1] In order to comprehend the fun-damental idea structuring an epoch, we must look that epoch straight in the face. And we might well ask: Whose face is it that holds our gaze at the close of the twentieth century? Who are the individu-als, among the dead, who have fed its myths? For we shall say nothing about the living — their history is still ahead of them. 1. The Prerequisites of Myth Formation According to contemporary scholarship, any myth represents an attempt to resolve contradictions, to mediate or reconcile ex-tremes, to make ends meet.[2] There can be no longer any doubt that Venedikt Ero-

feev (1938 - 1990), author of the “prose poem” Moscow to the End of the Line (1969), has become just such a myth.[3] Indeed he is perhaps the last literary myth of the Soviet epoch, which itself came to a sudden end shortly after the death of the writer. The question we may ask in relation to this myth is: What riddle does Erofeeev solve? What extremes does he reconcile? Russian literature abounds in myths, insofar as the social imagination is consti-tuted almost exclusively by literature and its derivatives. The mythic significance of a writer, however, does not always cor-respond to his/her literary merit. Dosto-evsky failed to become a myth, while Na-dson became one, as well as Esenin. On the other hand, Pushkin did become one, while Griboyedov did not. What condi-tions are required for a writer to become a myth? First of all, it is necessary for the writer to succeed in adopting a persona, preferably a lyrical one. Poets, as a rule, become myths because they create their own persona, in which fiction and reality fuse into one. Think of François Villon, Byron, Rimbaud, Blok ... In this sense, Moscow to the End of the Line is not just a “long poem”or poema [4] (although it is actually a work of prose), but is a completely lyrical work, inasmuch as the author recreates his own personality in it. The real-life Venichka and the “Venichka” of the poem become the same person. This is already the beginning of the myth. At the same time, it is necessary that the writer not embody himself completely in his work. The popular rumor-mill must have enough space in order to bring to the writer’s works that which he could not or would not disclose about himself. If Venedikt’s collected works had come to forty volumes instead of one skinny little volume, his commentators, archivists and biographers would not have failed to ap-pear. But popular imagination would have been stifled by all those volumes. There would not have been anything left to imagine, for the author would have said it all himself. For example, the myth of Lev Tolstoy is hampered by his own Collected Works, which total ninety volumes includ-ing rough drafts and variants. A myth does not like to lie, to evade the straight path of

truth. It is only when facts are missing or when they contradict one another that myth gets down to business. Myth is very sensitive, even touchy: when it is shown a heap of materials, it says: “Well, then, believe the material!” It then turns away and becomes silent forever. The best beginning for a myth is an untimely end, that is when witnesses to the mythmaker’s life live long enough for their memories to grow dim, turning them into stories and then legends. Everything that was not resolved by the man, all his abruptly interrupted contradictions, are now resolved by the myth. Almost all Russian literary myths, from Pushkin to Vysotsky, are made up of people who “have departed without having finished loving, without having finished smoking their last cigarette” (Nikolai Maiorov). [5] It is precisely this state of “not being finished” that allows a myth to take root, as if some idea, having failed to material-ize in reality, glimmers instead as an eter-nal symbol. The writer becomes a myth because he did not live out his life, did not write himself out, did not express himself completely. Such at least is our perception of him. “Pushkin died in full bloom of his forces and, indisputably, carried away to his grave some great riddle. And now we are trying to solve this riddle without him.”[6] That is why, side by side with Pushkin, we have the myth of Pushkin. All that was Pushkin but was not embod-ied in Pushkin himself now lives outside him. What could not be played out in an individual biography has been enacted in all of Russian culture since Pushkin’s death. It is enacted through Lermontov and Dostoevsky, Akhmatova and Nabok-ov, through all of us. What could not achieve corporeality and manifest itself in its own time is condensed into a lasting symbol. Within culture it is possible to dif-ferentiate between two kinds of entities: realized and potential ones. That which is realized becomes the history of cul-ture. That which is not realized but has somehow declared its existence and taken shape at least embryonically, becomes its myth. It is hard to say which of these en-tities predominates and is more important to culture. In Russian culture, with so


much emphasis placed on history, the pro-portional importance of its myths is nev-ertheless very great. Myth is the recom-pense for a debt — for what has not been lived out. It is an apparition that leaves its premature grave in order to make its visitations on posterity. In the case of myth it not a matter of physical age. The fifty-two years lived by Erofeev would have been quite enough for another writer to leave a monumental collection of works, including letters and textual commentary. But Erofeev could not and did not want to embody himself fully in his work. Instead, he destroyed himself, most probably, consciously. He was destroying himself as an author — and this was echoed by the dying protago-nist in his fiction. He was also destroy-ing himself as a persona — and this was echoed by the dying author. He ended the poem about himself with the words: “They plunged an awl right into my throat... And since then I have not regained conscious-ness, and never shall.”[7] If it were not for the ease with which Erofeev engaged in his own self-destruction, how would he have dared utter those prophetic words about himself: “... not regain conscious-ness... never...” ? And while he actually survived for twenty years after this end, Erofeev never regained full creative con-sciousness. Instead there were only mo-mentary flashes which signalled the death throes of an artistic talent. With the last line of Moscow to the End of the Line, Erofeev killed the hero and himself. A writer wanting his work to continue would never have ended his story that way — out of superstitious horror. The only thing that Erofeev might have failed to accomplish in his life was to destroy himself completely. He left be-hind a long poem, a drama, an essay — everything in the singular. But this was enough for a Erofeev myth to spring up. He remains not so much the author of his works as a character in them, about whom enough has been said to provoke interest, but not enough to satisfy it. Erofeev man-aged to say just enough about himself so as to remain forever unexpressed and un-finished. “Of course, Erofeev was more than his works” (Vladimir Muraviev); “...I think that [Venia] has realized himself well, if only one percent” (Aleksandr Le-ontovich); “Venia himself was more sig-nificant than his works” (Olga Sedakova).[8] It is precisely this way in which the creator exceeds his creation that forms the embryo of the myth. “He was more than the sum of what he did and produced.” This gap between the creator and his creation is filled by the creation of the

myth. The artistic image of Venichka, cre-ated by Erofeev, is complemented by the mythological image of Erofeev himself, created by his friends, who themselves become minor heroes in this myth. Here they are, seated at an eternal feast around the hero of the “heroic-comic” poem: Venichka’s jester is Tikhonov; Venichka’s wise man: Sorokin; Venichka’s ‘mad po-etess’ is Sedakova[9]; and so on. 2. The Myth of God’s Fool. What is so unique about “Venichka” that a myth about him could enter the crush of our literary legends and occupy a spe-cial place among them? There is the myth of Sergei Esenin, the myth of Vladimir Vysotsky. There are less popular myths, for example, the one about Yury Olesha, drunkenly chasing his metaphors like pink elephants but nearly knocked down by a passing mouse. All of these myths mediate two extremes, which are highly characteristic for any “model” of the artist in the Soviet period: “talent - persecuted,” “soul - smothered,” “life - crippled.” Let us investigate the components of the “Venia myth.” First, we see before us a hero, standing tall, flexible, stately, a magnet for all women. He allows them to worship at his shrine, he is surrounded by “priestesses” scattering flowers on the bed of his repose. Another mythopoeic characteristic of the hero concerned his relationship to alcohol: he drank but did not get drunk. In all his competitions with other experienced drunks, he emerged as victor. When they lay under the table in a sorry state, his eyes were as clear as glass.[10] Inner finesse, delicacy, neatness. And of course, a talented, intelligent, eru-dite man, who memorized hundreds of dates and lines of verse by heart, whose tongue was wittier than anyone else’s and who was praised throughout the world for his prose poem. At the same time, there was pov-erty and disorder, dismissal from all the universities where he had begun so bril-liantly, work digging ditches and con-structing cables, wandering, an inability to achieve anything in life, unrestrained drunkenness, no underwear, the loss of manuscripts and his passport, his insults at even his closest friends, throat cancer. And creative impotence: the epic poem that was written as a sort of amusement among his friends became his swan song. These contradictions only emphasize our need for a myth as they can not be resolved by rational means. If talented,

then why did he not write? If intelligent, why did he prefer the idea of “throw-ing himself down the bottle” to all other ideas? If he took pride in Russia, then why did she interest him so little and why could he not stand patriots? If he loved every kind of systematization, then why did he live in such a disorderly manner? If he was neat, then why did he become shabby? If he was gentle, then why did he act so crudely? And then, between these extremes, the first draft of the myth creeps in: a holy fool. This outline is very attractive, pro-ceeding from a common Russian affec-tion for a type of holiness that does not rise above the world in white garments but flips head-over-heels down into the most indecent gutter, drowning in the charms of this earth. This is what Erofeev’s closest friend, Vladimir Muraviev, writes: “Ven-ichka had the sense that safe, everyday life was just a substitute for real life, and he destroyed it and in fact his destruction had a partly religious nuance.”[11] It is for Christ’s sake that a holy fool destroys his own life and puts that of others to the test. Galina Erofeeva, Venedikt’s widow (who committed suicide soon after his death), remarked that “there was always religion in him. One probably should not say it, but I think that he imitated Christ.”[12] This does not contradict the comment by Muraviev: “...despite his religious potential, Venichka did not at all strive to live by Christian laws.”[13] The point here is that what the holy fool does strive to live in is the spirit of Chris-tian lawlessness, “making himself an obscenity.”[14] Venichka has nowhere to lay his head, he sleeps “on a pile of garbage” and achieves the “paradox of the religious feat”: mocking the feelings of both himself and those close to him, he produces in response a hail of ridi-cule and insults — - all in perfect accord with the canons of Russian hagiography.[15] In figurative terms, he hurled stones at the houses of the virtuous and kissed the cornerstone of houses where “blas-phemy” reigns,[16] exactly like Vasily the Blessed, the most celebrated of Russia’s holy fools, in whose honor a cathedral was errected on Red Square. Although similarly blessed, Venichka nevertheless never made it to Red Square but was in-stead carried off somewhere to the side.[17] What we witness is the process of lumpen-ization of the Russian holy fool — from Vasily the Blessed to Erofeev. Even Venia’s amazing drunken-ness is reminiscent of a saint’s voluntary chains and fasts, from which he derives


Part TwoAndrey Tarkovsky


Andrei Arsenyevich Tarkovsky, April 4, 1932–December 29, 1986, was a Soviet and Russian filmmaker, writer, film editor, film theorist and opera director. Tarkovsky’s films include An-drei Rublev, Solaris, The Mirror, and Stalker. He directed the first five of his seven feature films in the Soviet Union; his last two films were produced in Italy and Sweden, respectively. They are characterized by spirituality and metaphysical themes, extremely long takes, lack of con-ventional dramatic structure and plot, and memorable cinematography.Ingmar Bergman said of him: “Tarkovsky for me is the greatest [director], the one who invent-ed a new language, true to the nature of film, as it captures life as a reflection, life as a dream”.


“Instead of attempting to capture these nuances, most unpreten-tious ‘true-to-life’ films not only ignore them but make a point of using sharp, overstated images which at best can only make the picture seem far-fetched. And I am all for cinema being as close as possible to life - even if on occasion we have failed to see how beau-tiful life really is.”


“My purpose is to make films that will help people to live, even if they some-times cause unhap-piness.”


“No “mise en scène” has the right to be repeated, just as no two personali-ties are ever the same. As soon as a “mise en scène” turns into a sign, a cliché, a concept (however original it may be), then the whole thing - characters, situa-tion, psychology - become schematic and false.”


“An artist never works under ideal conditions. If they existed, his work wouldn’t exist, for the artist doesn’t live in a vacuum. Some sort of pressure must exist. The artist exists because the world is not perfect. Art would be useless if the world were perfect, as man wouldn’t look for harmony but would simply live in it. Art is born out of an ill-designed world.”


“So much, after all, remains in our thoughts and hearts as unrealized suggestion.”


Part Three Vladimir Vysotsky


MORNING WORKOUTTranslation by Andrey Kneller

Inhale deeply, arms - out more,Do not hurry - three and four!

Grace and pliability are emphasized!All around conditioning,

And hangover quickening,If you’re still alive and fidgeting -

Exercise!

If you’re working out at home,Do lie down!- three and four!

Correctly go through every single motion!Lose the tension that you feel,

Get accustomed to the drill!Inhale deeply right until...

Exhaustion!

Quickly growing ‘round the world - Flu and illness - three and four!

The disease is gradually flourishing!If you’re weak - straight to the grave!

If you want your wellness saved,With a towel rub yourself,

It’s nourishing!


If already you feel spent,Sit and stand, sit and stand -

Do not fear the Arctic and Antarctic!Our main scholar Dr. Joffe

Proved to us that booze and coffeeWill be replaced by athletic prophy -

- lactic

All the talking should be stoppedKeep on squatting ‘till you drop

Do not be such gloomy creatures!If you cannot hold your ardor

Rub yourself with something harderIn the water, you can start the

Drilled procedures

We’re not scared of doltish talk - In response we run and walk,-

Amateurs - triumphant from the start!Beautiful!- right from beginningNo one’s losing, no one’s winningStationary running is bringing

Peace to hearts!


Part Four Yuri Gagarin


Part Four Yuri Gagarin

I 1960 blev Gagarin sammen med 20 andre udvalgt til kosmonaut. De gennemgik et hårdt træningsprogram, og på baggrund af denne træning skulle det første menneske i rummet vælges. Valget stod mellem ham og German Titov. Gagarin blev valgt, muligvis influeret af hans personlighed og beskedne opvækst. Han var kun 157 cm høj, og der var meget lidt plads i rumskibet.Den 12. april 1961 blev Gagarin det første menneske i rummet, da han blev sendt op med Vostok 1. Efterfølgende er han blevet sat i forbindelse med citatet Jeg ser ingen Gud her oppe. Efterfølgende gennemlytninger af båndoptagelsen af rejsen viste sig dog ikke at indeholde et sådant citat. I stedet er han blevet kendt for at nynne melodien “Faderlandet hører, Fad-erlandet ved”.Han blev straks en verdenskendt berømthed og rejste vidt og bredt som ambassadør for Sovjetunionen. Jurij Gagarin besøgte sammen med hus-truen, Valentina, Danmark i 1962, hvor han var i audiens hos kong Fred-erik IX og desuden overværede skolernes idrætsdag i Gladsaxe Kommune.Fra 1963 sad han i den Øverste Sovjet, men vendte tilbage til Stjernebyen, hvor han arbejdede med udvikling af genbrugelige rumskibe og blev træn-ingsleder. I 1967 var han reservepilot på Sojuz 1.Gagarin omkom ved en flyveulykke under en træningsflyvning med en MiG-15 nær Moskva i 1968. Han er begravet på Den Røde Plads i Moskva.


A few days ago I was having a conversation with a professor at Stanford University when the name Yuri Gagarin came up. The professor (who is considered to be one of America’s leading experts on Russian history) stunned me when he said that on the last day of his life Gagarin and his flight instructor showed up to fly both of them stinking drunk. According to the professor anyone else would have been turned away but since Gagarin was the great space hero no one had the guts to pre-vent him from climbing into the cockpit of the MiG and roaring off. The professor said Gagarin died as a result of drunk flying.“I can’t believe that,” I replied. “The story that Gagarin was drunk when he died is not in any of the history books. Not a single one of them.”

The professor just smiled at me and said, “For more than a hundred years after his death none of the history books said that Thomas Jefferson was sleeping with his slaves but anyone who really knew American history knew that he was.”


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2. Only clear thoughts (however shady they may be) will be published!

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