Prigov Dmitry
Dmitry Prigov
How much do I need in my life... - A banal argument on the topic of freedom ("Just wash the dishes...") - In the buffet of the writers' house... - In the blue spring air... - I'm quietly standing in line... - It's raining. The cockroach and I... - Here's the chicken, it's not tasty at all... - Here's a pioneer catching an enemy... - Here's a plumber coming... - Here's a Militsaner sleeping in the metro... - I remember my distant, but very specific childhood... - All life is full of dangers... - Yesterday in pitch darkness in the middle of the night... - I will wash the dishes... - The Lord is leafing through the book of life... - The girl walks, laughing... - The soul is invisible, because it is light as mist. .. - I ate a beautiful juicy kebab... - A woman kicked me in the subway... - I was going for cake one morning... - Like a deliberate urkan... - When I happened to be sick... - Kulikovo Field ( “I’ve put everyone in their places...”) - Mom is temporarily visiting me... - My body is an invisible creature... - I found a number on my meter... - People, on the one hand, are understandable... - It doesn’t matter, what is the milk recorded... - Oh, how long ago all this was... - He was an idiot in his youth... - Elephant hunting in Western Siberia(“Here is an elephant that can’t feel its powerful legs...”) - In the middle of the universe... - The light comes on - a terrible raid... - Happiness, happiness, where are you? Where are you? wildness of nature...
How much do I need in life? I won’t say a word anymore Like a Leibnizian monad I’m flying and buzzing something To some other monad She answers me: For God’s sake, don’t buzz
A BANAL DISCUSSION ON THE TOPIC OF FREEDOM
As soon as you wash the dishes, lo and behold, there are new ones already. What freedom there is here. Here you could live to be an old man. True, you don’t have to wash them. But then different people come in. They say: the dishes are dirty! Where can there be freedom?
In the buffet of the writers' house Drinking beer Policeman Drinking in his usual manner Without even seeing the writers
They look at him, it’s light and empty around him, and all their different arts mean nothing in front of him.
He represents Life Appearing in the form of Debt. Life is short, but Art is long. And Life wins the battle.
In the blue spring air the sun caressed the shadows, the son with a daughter’s smile perched on his knees
Eka tenderness in nature Like predestination But instead in the people Eka is the power of division Terrible
I’m standing quietly in the queue And I’m thinking to myself, I wish Pushkin would be in the queue And Lermontov would be in the queue And Blok would also be in the queue What would they write about? - Oh happiness!
It's raining. The cockroach and I sit by the wet window and look into the distance where the desired country rises out of the fog Like some kind of transcendental smoke I say with some kind of bliss: Well, hairy one, let's fly away! I can't, I only know how to run! Well, run, run.
This chicken is not tasty at all. But, Lord! - to think, after all, She had to run around and suffer: After all, I’m completely tasteless! After all, it’s inconvenient to eat if Dmitry Alexandrych decides to eat me
So the pioneer caught the enemy And he killed the poor child And threw the lifeless one under his feet And yet, and yet, and still And yet, and yet And yet And yet How inexpensive life is with us
The plumber will come and ruin the toilet The gas worker will ruin the gas Electricity - electrician
The fireman will light the fire. The courier will do the meanness. But the Policeman will come. He will tell them: don’t play around!
There's a Militsaner sleeping in the metro And he seems to be completely absent But something in him is invisibly awake That there is a Militsaner in him
And without missing a word, everyone understands that this is how it should be. Since the Militsaner is sleeping, this is how it should be! This is the form of wakefulness
I remember my distant, but very specific childhood. It happened! - so where did it manage to go?
There was a house and a garden and an exact child’s body. But for some reason I don’t remember either my child’s skeleton or the child’s grave - where did it fly to?
Or is all this still sitting inside me as a separate size? Unforgettable, but also unprovable, not obvious in appearance
All life is full of dangers Among the small everyday details So the other day I heard a buzzer I picked up the phone and at the same moment I heard that I pure genius I almost died of horror! What is this?
Yesterday in the pitch darkness in the middle of the night a crazy mosquito tormented me
Now he sang while twisting, now he sang crouching, I fought with him in the night like a lion
In the morning, exhausted, we both left the battle
With losses in manpower and equipment
I'll wash the dishes This is what I love This calms my Evil blood
If it weren't for this Modest life path I wish I could be a murderer or someone at all
Someone with wings With a fiery sword And so I wash the dishes And again nothing
The Lord flips through the book of life and thinks: who would take this away? Everyone will only hear an iron sound in the sky And, like mice, run home
And He will lift the roof, smile and rummage around in the corners with his hand. He will catch the poor man, and he is trembling and beating. The Lord will look into the eyes: God be with you. Why are you beating?
The girl walks, laughing There are only three liters of blood in her Yes, only four liters There are five or six liters And from a small injection the whole thing can flow out My dear girl For the sake of mother, for the sake of school For the sake of the Motherland and duty Before the Motherland, my dear is obliged to live for a long time Take care, keep yourself
The soul is invisible because it is light as a mist. Or maybe it is pure invention
Maybe everything that they write about her - the soul suffers, the soul rejoices - all this is false. But the point is not what may or may not be, but what should be
But there must be a soul. Although it may not exist - how do bachelors happen, while everyone else has a wife?
I ate a beautiful juicy kebab, and maybe early in the morning, these poor pieces were running in different sheep
They thought differently, frolicked, and now, for a certain purpose, they took it and united into some new, some integral Organism.
A woman kicked me on the subway. Well, shoving - that's all right. But here she clearly went too far, and the whole thing moved into the rank of an unnecessary personal relationship. Naturally, I kicked in response, but I immediately asked for forgiveness. It's just that I, as a person, was superior
One morning I went for a cake So that by the evening I would have guests But life is arranged so wisely Not only such passions as cake, but also simple sweets And there was no sugar And there were no guests It seemed like a coincidence, it seemed But no - days like this We have arrived to which we have been walking for so long. Fate clearly breathes in everything here.
Like a deliberate roach, a cockroach roams at night
Among the kitchen, for example, I’m like a Militsaner
Like a guard, I tell him: Wait!
He shoots back - away, I follow him. And so all night
When I happened to be sick, I felt like a cat, Which always breaks a little between things, She sits in the sun, The opposite of that breaking, she accumulates energy, and as soon as she saves it, she jumps up! Yes, how it will rush! Well, at least take out all the saints
How much do I need in my life... - A banal argument on the topic of freedom ("Just wash the dishes...") - In the buffet of the writers' house... - In the blue spring air... - I'm quietly standing in line... - It's raining. The cockroach and I... - Here's the chicken, it's not tasty at all... - Here's a pioneer catching an enemy... - Here's a plumber coming... - Here's a Militsaner sleeping in the metro... - I remember my distant, but very specific childhood... - All life is full of dangers... - Yesterday in pitch darkness in the middle of the night... - I will wash the dishes... - The Lord is leafing through the book of life... - The girl walks, laughing... - The soul is invisible, because it is light as mist. .. - I ate a beautiful juicy kebab... - A woman kicked me in the subway... - I was going for cake one morning... - Like a deliberate urkan... - When I happened to be sick... - Kulikovo Field ( “I’ve put everyone in their places...”) - Mom is temporarily visiting me... - My body is an invisible creature... - I found a number on my meter... - People, on the one hand, are understandable... - It doesn’t matter, what is the milk yield recorded... - Oh, how long ago all this was... - He was an idiot in his youth... - Hunting for elephants in Western Siberia ("Here is an elephant that cannot sense powerful legs...") - In the middle of the universe. .. - The light comes on - a terrible raid... - Happiness, happiness, where are you? Where are you? wildness of nature...
How much do I need in life? I won’t say a word anymore Like a Leibnizian monad I’m flying and buzzing something To some other monad She answers me: For God’s sake, don’t buzz
A BANAL DISCUSSION ON THE TOPIC OF FREEDOM
As soon as you wash the dishes, lo and behold, there are new ones already. What freedom there is here. Here you could live to be an old man. True, you don’t have to wash them. But then different people come in. They say: the dishes are dirty! Where can there be freedom?
In the buffet of the writers' house Drinking beer Policeman Drinking in his usual manner Without even seeing the writers
They look at him, it’s light and empty around him, and all their different arts mean nothing in front of him.
He represents Life Appearing in the form of Debt. Life is short, but Art is long. And Life wins the battle.
In the blue spring air the sun caressed the shadows, the son with a daughter’s smile perched on his knees
Eka tenderness in nature Like predestination But instead in the people Eka is the power of division Terrible
I’m standing quietly in the queue And I’m thinking to myself, I wish Pushkin would be in the queue And Lermontov would be in the queue And Blok would also be in the queue What would they write about? - Oh happiness!
It's raining. The cockroach and I sit by the wet window and look into the distance where the desired country rises out of the fog Like some kind of transcendental smoke I say with some kind of bliss: Well, hairy one, let's fly away! I can't, I only know how to run! Well, run, run.
This chicken is not tasty at all. But, Lord! - to think, after all, She had to run around and suffer: After all, I’m completely tasteless! After all, it’s inconvenient to eat if Dmitry Alexandrych decides to eat me
So the pioneer caught the enemy And he killed the poor child And threw the lifeless one under his feet And yet, and yet, and still And yet, and yet And yet And yet How inexpensive life is with us
The plumber will come and ruin the toilet The gas worker will ruin the gas Electricity - electrician
The fireman will light the fire. The courier will do the meanness. But the Policeman will come. He will tell them: don’t play around!
There's a Militsaner sleeping in the metro And he seems to be completely absent But something in him is invisibly awake That there is a Militsaner in him
And without missing a word, everyone understands that this is how it should be. Since the Militsaner is sleeping, this is how it should be! This is the form of wakefulness
I remember my distant, but very specific childhood. It happened! - so where did it manage to go?
There was a house and a garden and an exact child’s body. But for some reason I don’t remember either my child’s skeleton or the child’s grave - where did it fly to?
Or is all this still sitting inside me as a separate size? Unforgettable, but also unprovable, not obvious in appearance
All life is full of dangers Among the small everyday details So the other day I heard a buzzer. I picked up the phone and at that very moment I heard that I was a pure genius. I almost died of horror! What is this?
Yesterday in the pitch darkness in the middle of the night a crazy mosquito tormented me
Now he sang while twisting, now he sang crouching, I fought with him in the night like a lion
In the morning, exhausted, we both left the battle
With losses in manpower and equipment
I'll wash the dishes This is what I love This calms my Evil blood
If it were not for this modest path of life, I would have been a murderer or someone else at all.
Someone with wings With a fiery sword And so I wash the dishes And again nothing
The Lord flips through the book of life and thinks: who would take this away? Everyone will only hear an iron sound in the sky And, like mice, run home
And He will lift the roof, smile and rummage around in the corners with his hand. He will catch the poor man, and he is trembling and beating. The Lord will look into the eyes: God be with you. Why are you beating?
The girl walks, laughing There are only three liters of blood in her Yes, only four liters There are five or six liters And from a small injection the whole thing can flow out My dear girl For the sake of mother, for the sake of school For the sake of the Motherland and duty Before the Motherland, my dear is obliged to live for a long time Take care, keep yourself
The soul is invisible because it is light as a mist. Or maybe it is pure invention
Maybe everything that they write about her - the soul suffers, the soul rejoices - all this is false. But the point is not what may or may not be, but what should be
But there must be a soul. Although it may not exist - how do bachelors happen, while everyone else has a wife?
I ate a beautiful juicy kebab, and maybe early in the morning, these poor pieces were running in different sheep
They thought differently, frolicked, and now, for a certain purpose, they took it and united into some new, some integral Organism.
A woman kicked me on the subway. Well, shoving - that's all right. But here she clearly went too far, and the whole thing moved into the rank of an unnecessary personal relationship. Naturally, I kicked in response, but I immediately asked for forgiveness. It's just that I, as a person, was superior
One morning I went for a cake So that by the evening I would have guests But life is arranged so wisely Not only such passions as cake, but also simple sweets And there was no sugar And there were no guests It seemed like a coincidence, it seemed But no - days like this We have arrived to which we have been walking for so long. Fate clearly breathes in everything here.
Current page: 1 (book has 1 pages in total)
Prigov Dmitry
Poetry
Dmitry Prigov
- How much do I need in my life... - A banal argument on the topic of freedom ("Just wash the dishes...") - In the buffet of the writers' house... - In the blue spring air... - I'm quietly standing in line. .. – It’s raining. The cockroach and I... - Here's the chicken, it's not tasty at all... - Here's a pioneer catching an enemy... - Here's a plumber coming... - Here's a Militsaner sleeping in the metro... - I remember my distant, but very specific childhood... - All life is full of dangers... - Yesterday in pitch darkness in the middle of the night... - I will wash the dishes... - The Lord is leafing through the book of life... - The girl walks, laughing... - The soul is invisible, because it is light as mist. .. – I ate a beautiful juicy kebab... – A woman kicked me in the subway... – I was going for cake one morning... – Like a deliberate urkan... – When I happened to be sick... – Kulikovo Field ( “I’ve put everyone in their places...”) - Mom is temporarily visiting me... - My body is an invisible creature... - I found a number on my meter... - People, on the one hand, are understandable... - It doesn’t matter, what is the milk recorded... - Oh, how long ago all this was... - He was an idiot in his youth... - Hunting for elephants in Western Siberia ("Here is an elephant that can't sense powerful legs...") - In the middle of the universe. .. - The light comes on - a terrible raid... - Happiness, happiness, where are you? Where are you... - So in all the disgrace... - The beautiful Oka is flowing... - The harvest has increased... - The more we love our Motherland... - Something about the air is somehow crooked... - These wildness of nature...
How much do I need in life? I won’t say a word anymore Like a Leibnizian monad I’m flying and buzzing something To some other monad She answers me: For God’s sake, don’t buzz
A BANAL DISCUSSION ON THE TOPIC OF FREEDOM
As soon as you wash the dishes, lo and behold, there are new ones already. What freedom there is here. Here you could live to be an old man. True, you don’t have to wash them. But then different people come in. They say: the dishes are dirty! Where can there be freedom?
In the buffet of the writers' house Drinking beer Policeman Drinking in his usual manner Without even seeing the writers
They look at him, it’s light and empty around him, and all their different arts mean nothing in front of him.
He represents Life Appearing in the form of Debt. Life is short, but Art is long. And Life wins the battle.
In the blue spring air the sun caressed the shadows, the son with a daughter’s smile perched on his knees
Eka tenderness in nature Like predestination But instead in the people Eka is the power of division Terrible
I’m standing quietly in the queue And I’m thinking to myself, I wish Pushkin would be in the queue And Lermontov would be in the queue And Blok would also be in the queue What would they write about? - Oh happiness!
It's raining. The cockroach and I sit by the wet window and look into the distance where the desired country rises out of the fog Like some kind of transcendental smoke I say with some kind of bliss: Well, hairy one, let's fly away! I can't, I only know how to run! Well, run, run.
This chicken is not tasty at all. But, Lord! - to think, after all, She had to run around and suffer: After all, I’m completely tasteless! After all, it’s inconvenient to eat if Dmitry Alexandrych decides to eat me
So the pioneer caught the enemy And he killed the poor child And threw the lifeless one under his feet And yet, and yet, and still And yet, and yet And yet And yet How inexpensive life is with us
The plumber will come and ruin the toilet The gas man will ruin the gas Electricity - electrician
The fireman will light the fire. The courier will do the meanness. But the Policeman will come. He will tell them: don’t play around!
There's a Militsaner sleeping in the metro And he seems to be completely absent But something in him is invisibly awake That there is a Militsaner in him
And without saying a word here, everyone understands that this is how it should be. Once the Militsaner is sleeping, this is how it should be! This is the form of wakefulness
I remember my distant, but very specific childhood. It happened! - so where did it manage to go?
There was a house and a garden and an exact child’s body. But for some reason I don’t remember either my child’s skeleton or the child’s grave - where did it fly to?
Or is all this still sitting inside me as a separate size? Unforgettable, but also unprovable, not obvious in appearance
All life is full of dangers Among the small everyday details So the other day I heard a buzzer. I picked up the phone and at that very moment I heard that I was a pure genius. I almost died of horror! What is this?
Yesterday in the pitch darkness in the middle of the night a crazy mosquito tormented me
Now he sang while twisting, now he sang crouching, I fought with him in the night like a lion
In the morning, exhausted, we both left the battle
With losses in manpower and equipment
I'll wash the dishes This is what I love This calms my Evil blood
If it were not for this modest path of life, I would have been a murderer or someone else at all.
Someone with wings With a fiery sword And so I wash the dishes And again nothing
The Lord flips through the book of life and thinks: who would take this away? Everyone will only hear an iron sound in the sky And, like mice, run home
And He will lift the roof, smile and rummage around in the corners with his hand. He will catch the poor man, and he is trembling and beating. The Lord will look into the eyes: God be with you. Why are you beating?
The girl walks, laughing There are only three liters of blood in her Yes, only four liters There are five or six liters And from a small injection the whole thing can flow out My dear girl For the sake of mother, for the sake of school For the sake of the Motherland and duty Before the Motherland, my dear is obliged to live for a long time Take care, keep yourself
The soul is invisible because it is light as a mist. Or maybe it is pure invention
Maybe everything that they write about her - the soul suffers, the soul rejoices - is all false. But the point is not what may or may not be, but what should be
But there must be a soul. Although it may not exist - how do bachelors happen, while everyone else has a wife
I ate a beautiful juicy kebab, and maybe early in the morning, these poor pieces were running in different sheep
They thought differently, frolicked, and now, for a certain purpose, they took it and united into some new, some integral Organism.
A woman on the subway kicked me Well, shoving – that’s all right But here she clearly went too far, and the whole thing moved into the rank of an unnecessary personal relationship. Naturally, I kicked in response But I immediately asked for forgiveness. It’s just that I, as a person, was superior
One morning I went for a cake So that by the evening I would have guests But life is arranged so wisely Not only such passions as cake, but also simple sweets And there was no sugar And then the guests didn’t come It seemed like a coincidence, it seemed But no - days like this We have arrived to which we have been walking for so long. Fate clearly breathes in everything here.
Like a deliberate roach, a cockroach roams at night
Among the kitchen, for example, I’m like a Militsaner
Like a guard, I tell him: Wait!
He shoots back and walks away. I follow him. And so all night
When I happened to be sick, I felt like a cat, Which always breaks a little between things, She sits in the sun, The opposite of that breaking, she accumulates energy, and as soon as she saves it, she jumps up! Yes, how it will rush! Well, at least take out all the saints
KULIKOVO POLE
So I put everyone in their places Here I put these on the right These I put on the left I left all the others for later I left the Poles for later I left the French for later And I left the Germans for later I set up my angels And I put the ravens on top And I put the other birds at the top And below is the field provided the field for the battle, provided it with trees, filled it with oak-fir trees, set it with bushes here and there, furnished it with soft grass, covered it with small bugs, populated it, Let everything be as I imagined, Let everyone live, as I forced, Let everyone die, as I forced, So the Russians will win today, after all, they are not bad Russian guys And good Russian girls They suffered a lot, Russians They endured non-Russian horrors So the Russians will win today
What will happen here, since now the Earth is crumbling now And the sky is dusty now The underground rocks are collapsing And the underground waters are rushing And the underground creatures are rushing And the ground people are running The ground people are running here and there And the birds have risen above ground All the crow birds are above ground
But the Tatars are nicer, And their names are nicer And their voices are nicer And their habits are nicer Even though the Russians are neater But the Tatars are still nicer
So let the Tatars win. From here everything will be visible to me. The Tatars, that means they will win. But by the way, tomorrow we will see
Mom moved in temporarily with me for a couple of days. So I introduce it to her: This is the kitchen, the toilet This is the soap, this is the bath And these are the cockroaches They also live temporarily Mom says uncertainly: Are they really living temporarily? Lord, we are all temporary!
My body is an invisible creature Crying quietly in the corner So I take her innocent I hold her in a punishing hand
And with a kind smile I say: Live, my little marmot. Here I am your Almighty God. For the duration of this short life, humble yourself!
I found a number on my meter. Where did the strange number come from? What government sent it to me? Where did it come out from? What fields? what bird? Here I am, I don’t want much, I seem to be paying my bills regularly, and then something like this comes up – I won’t be able to pay it off forever.
On the one hand, the people are understandable. On the other hand, they are incomprehensible. And it all depends on which side you come from. From the side that they are understandable, or from the side that is incomprehensible.
And you are understandable to him from any side, Or you are incomprehensible to him from any side You are surrounded, and you have no side To be understandable, but on the other hand, incomprehensible
It doesn’t matter that the recorded milk yield is no match for the real milk yield. Everything that is written down is written in heaven. And if it doesn’t come true in two or three days, it will still come true someday. And in the highest sense, it has already come true. And in the lower sense, everything will be forgotten. And almost I've already forgotten
Oh, how long ago all this was How I, in my sailor suit, Jumped like a baby between people And the sun was shining from above
And now I grab passersby by the sleeve: Do you bastards remember How I galloped in a smart sailor suit?! After all, it happened! it's true! They don't remember
He was an idiot in his youth And in his old age he did not become smarter But in some ways he became wiser And became more perspicacious in some ways
He became an example to youth of the painstaking work of life, and the smart ones are the happy ones among them. Will you find, will you find an example?! And you won't find them anymore
ELEPHANT HUNTING IN WESTERN SIBERIA
Here is an elephant, not feeling its powerful legs, running through the scorched meadows. A hunter from the timber industry enterprise is already lying cocked.
And it aims exactly at the left eye, so as not to spoil the skin with a bullet. The elephant dies very soon And thinks: last time, it happened exactly the same
In the middle of the universe In the midst of little Moscow I suffer from suffering I am also insignificantly small Well, what if I suffered Seeing this or that That suffering objects Would take my size But with the suffering of suffering I embrace the universe Exceeding even Moscow
The light comes on - a terrible attack on the civilian population Who is attacking? and who beats it on Sunday evening
I swoop in and I hit it. Crowds of cockroaches. I sing loudly victory songs. I let water out of the tap.
Dear, poor things, I’m not an animal! Not an American in Vietnam! But what can you do - it’s alas In us, and outside of us, and above us
Happiness, happiness, where are you? Where are you? And which side are you on? From under the arm it suddenly answers: here I am! Here I am! Oh, my dear! Darling baby! Let me feel sorry for you. Just sit there and keep your head down.
So in every ugliness there is Something good. Here is the national hero - Razin, with the princess thrown into the Volga, Razin threw her, the living daughter of Persia. So you look: it’s a disgrace And it’s beautiful - songlike...
The beautiful Oka flows among the beautiful Kaluga, the beautiful people, legs and arms warm under the sun here in the morning
During the day he goes to work to the handsome black machine, and in the evening he comes again to live on the beautiful Oka
And this is, perhaps, by the way, That beauty that in a year or two, but as a result will save the whole earth with beauty
The harvest has increased There will be more bread There will be more time To talk about heaven
There will be more time to talk about the sky. The harvest will decrease. There will be less bread.
The more we love our Motherland, the less it likes us! That's what I said one day and still haven't changed my mind
Somehow the air is somehow crooked So you go out in one direction And you go in another direction And you won’t return home And sometimes you will come back - my God Something about the house is somehow crooked And in some other direction Directed
These wildnesses of nature are certainly amazing. These lightning flashes! These furious waters!
Well, you ask them: why? They answer that it’s necessary. Well, if it’s necessary, then it’s necessary. We understand too.
Prigov Dmitry
Dmitry Prigov
How much do I need in my life... - A banal argument on the topic of freedom ("Just wash the dishes...") - In the buffet of the writers' house... - In the blue spring air... - I'm quietly standing in line... - It's raining. The cockroach and I... - Here's the chicken, it's not tasty at all... - Here's a pioneer catching an enemy... - Here's a plumber coming... - Here's a Militsaner sleeping in the metro... - I remember my distant, but very specific childhood... - All life is full of dangers... - Yesterday in pitch darkness in the middle of the night... - I will wash the dishes... - The Lord is leafing through the book of life... - The girl walks, laughing... - The soul is invisible, because it is light as mist. .. - I ate a beautiful juicy kebab... - A woman kicked me in the subway... - I was going for cake one morning... - Like a deliberate urkan... - When I happened to be sick... - Kulikovo Field ( “I’ve put everyone in their places...”) - Mom is temporarily visiting me... - My body is an invisible creature... - I found a number on my meter... - People, on the one hand, are understandable... - It doesn’t matter, what is the milk yield recorded... - Oh, how long ago all this was... - He was an idiot in his youth... - Hunting for elephants in Western Siberia ("Here is an elephant that cannot sense powerful legs...") - In the middle of the universe. .. - The light comes on - a terrible raid... - Happiness, happiness, where are you? Where are you? wildness of nature...
How much do I need in life? I won’t say a word anymore Like a Leibnizian monad I’m flying and buzzing something To some other monad She answers me: For God’s sake, don’t buzz
A BANAL DISCUSSION ON THE TOPIC OF FREEDOM
As soon as you wash the dishes, lo and behold, there are new ones already. What freedom there is here. Here you could live to be an old man. True, you don’t have to wash them. But then different people come in. They say: the dishes are dirty! Where can there be freedom?
In the buffet of the writers' house Drinking beer Policeman Drinking in his usual manner Without even seeing the writers
They look at him, it’s light and empty around him, and all their different arts mean nothing in front of him.
He represents Life Appearing in the form of Debt. Life is short, but Art is long. And Life wins the battle.
In the blue spring air the sun caressed the shadows, the son with a daughter’s smile perched on his knees
Eka tenderness in nature Like predestination But instead in the people Eka is the power of division Terrible
I’m standing quietly in the queue And I’m thinking to myself, I wish Pushkin would be in the queue And Lermontov would be in the queue And Blok would also be in the queue What would they write about? - Oh happiness!
It's raining. The cockroach and I sit by the wet window and look into the distance where the desired country rises out of the fog Like some kind of transcendental smoke I say with some kind of bliss: Well, hairy one, let's fly away! I can't, I only know how to run! Well, run, run.
This chicken is not tasty at all. But, Lord! - to think, after all, She had to run around and suffer: After all, I’m completely tasteless! After all, it’s inconvenient to eat if Dmitry Alexandrych decides to eat me
So the pioneer caught the enemy And he killed the poor child And threw the lifeless one under his feet And yet, and yet, and still And yet, and yet And yet And yet How inexpensive life is with us
The plumber will come and ruin the toilet The gas worker will ruin the gas Electricity - electrician
The fireman will light the fire. The courier will do the meanness. But the Policeman will come. He will tell them: don’t play around!
There's a Militsaner sleeping in the metro And he seems to be completely absent But something in him is invisibly awake That there is a Militsaner in him
And without missing a word, everyone understands that this is how it should be. Since the Militsaner is sleeping, this is how it should be! This is the form of wakefulness
I remember my distant, but very specific childhood. It happened! - so where did it manage to go?
There was a house and a garden and an exact child’s body. But for some reason I don’t remember either my child’s skeleton or the child’s grave - where did it fly to?
Or is all this still sitting inside me as a separate size? Unforgettable, but also unprovable, not obvious in appearance
All life is full of dangers Among the small everyday details So the other day I heard a buzzer. I picked up the phone and at that very moment I heard that I was a pure genius. I almost died of horror! What is this?
Yesterday in the pitch darkness in the middle of the night a crazy mosquito tormented me
Now he sang while twisting, now he sang crouching, I fought with him in the night like a lion
In the morning, exhausted, we both left the battle
With losses in manpower and equipment
I'll wash the dishes This is what I love This calms my Evil blood
If it were not for this modest path of life, I would have been a murderer or someone else at all.
Someone with wings With a fiery sword And so I wash the dishes And again nothing
The Lord flips through the book of life and thinks: who would take this away? Everyone will only hear an iron sound in the sky And, like mice, run home
And He will lift the roof, smile and rummage around in the corners with his hand. He will catch the poor man, and he is trembling and beating. The Lord will look into the eyes: God be with you. Why are you beating?
The girl walks, laughing There are only three liters of blood in her Yes, only four liters There are five or six liters And from a small injection the whole thing can flow out My dear girl For the sake of mother, for the sake of school For the sake of the Motherland and duty Before the Motherland, my dear is obliged to live for a long time Take care, keep yourself
The soul is invisible because it is light as a mist. Or maybe it is pure invention
Maybe everything that they write about her - the soul suffers, the soul rejoices - all this is false. But the point is not what may or may not be, but what should be
But there must be a soul. Although it may not exist - how do bachelors happen, while everyone else has a wife?
I ate a beautiful juicy kebab, and maybe early in the morning, these poor pieces were running in different sheep
They thought differently, frolicked, and now, for a certain purpose, they took it and united into some new, some integral Organism.
A woman kicked me on the subway. Well, shoving - that's all right. But here she clearly went too far, and the whole thing moved into the rank of an unnecessary personal relationship. Naturally, I kicked in response, but I immediately asked for forgiveness. It's just that I, as a person, was superior
One morning I went for a cake So that by the evening I would have guests But life is arranged so wisely Not only such passions as cake, but also simple sweets And there was no sugar And there were no guests It seemed like a coincidence, it seemed But no - days like this We have arrived to which we have been walking for so long. Fate clearly breathes in everything here.
I looked in the mirror this morning
And a spasm pierced my heart:
Is this beauty really
The whole world will save me through
And it became scary
The raven looked askance from above
On me, yes on me
I am adjusting clothes
Maybe the jacket is askew:
What are you staring at, black bastard?
At me, or a stranger?
And he told me in Russian:
Why are you fussing?
Just a sudden sweet scent
Pulled
So the mouse ran and tripped
And suddenly she turned over on her back
Lying on his back with his paws dangling
And I just came here
And his belly bent down to tickle her
She tells me: Danke schoen
And I answer her: Bitte shön
She says quietly to me again: Danke shön
And again I quietly told her: Bitte shön
She’s already completely freezing: What about “bitte schön”? -
And the fact that with the other hand there’s no sharpened knife in his pocket
I won't find anything mean
When the big crocodile
She led an elephant through the streets
Then all sorts of assholes followed
A week later I was driving
Your own elephant
A BANAL DISCUSSION ON THE TOPIC OF FREEDOM
Just wash the dishes
Lo and behold, there’s a new one lying around
What kind of freedom is there?
Here I would live to old age
True, you don’t have to wash it
Yes, different ones come here
They say: the dishes are dirty -
Where can there be freedom?
I spent my whole life washing dishes
And in the composition of sublime verses
All my life's wisdom comes from here
That's why my character is hard and harsh
Here the water flows - I comprehend it
Outside the window below are the people and the authorities
What I don't like - I just cancel
And what you like is what’s around
Water flows from the tap
Clean, transparent and thick
And more than a hundred other qualities
What follows from this? -
And it follows: we must live
And sew sundresses from chintz
And you don’t want to, tell me
Sit down for convictions
And it is necessary
When I secretly took out the trash
In the evening, so that the neighbors don’t see
Nearby, in kindergarten neighboring
Because without, vile, strength
Getting up in the morning to a merciless call
Garbage collection holy machine -
I was a criminal - Lord, decide for me
Or die, or only answer Your call
Get up
A woman kicked me on the subway
Well, shove - wherever it goes
Here she clearly went too far
Stick and the whole thing went over
To the rank of unnecessary personal relationships
Naturally, I kicked in response.
But he immediately asked for forgiveness -
It's just that I was superior as a person
Winged Sunday
In the winged month of May
Somehow winged
Something winged there
I left the entrance
From my home
Where I spent the whole winter
And with my family
I went out and cried
Squatted down
And I didn't get wet
And I didn’t want to live
So I endured all winter
He was thin, but white in spirit
And here is such happiness -
And I didn’t want to live
A BANAL DISCUSSION ON THE SOLID FOUNDATIONS OF LIFE
I touched the eucalyptus leaves
And he touched the hem of the banner
And touched, in a different sense
Sometimes hearts and minds
But, alas, you can’t build a life
Touching different things
After all, there is only one principle here: touched -
And then put it in place
It's over your left shoulder
I looked and saw myself as a fox
And over your right shoulder
I looked and saw myself as an owl
He got all tense and again
I saw myself
And they galloped off into the forest
He himself remained in the city
In the buffet of the House of Writers
Policeman drinking beer
He drinks in his usual manner,
Without even seeing the writers
They are looking at him.
Around him it is light and empty,
And all their different arts
With him they don't mean anything
He represents Life
Appearing in the form of Debt.
Life is short, but Art is long.
And Life wins the battle.
Revolutionary Cossack woman
She shoed my horse
Well, after that it’s ambiguous
Looked at me
I flew into a bloody battle
And there he laid his head
And then with posthumous fame
I turned straight towards her
Rising up on the seat
A stupefied horse
I'm entering a settlement
But they can't see me
And she suddenly saw
My ears suddenly began to bleed
After falling dead
Then I got up and walked over
Raises the eye
It's empty and shaking
He says: it’s not far from here
Let's go together, we'll live
Here young people come to me
What can I tell her?
Are you studying? - yes they already said
Are you getting married? - get married anyway
And having gotten married, having learned
This is how everyone will live
And I will tell her like a villain:
Live where you can't live -
_________________________________________
(November 5, 1940 – July 16, 2007). Born into a family of intellectuals. At the end high school worked for some time at a factory as a mechanic. Then he studied at the Moscow Higher Art and Industrial School. Stroganov (1959-1966). A sculptor by training. In 1966-1974 he worked at the Moscow Architectural Administration.
In the late 1960s and early 1970s, he became ideologically close to the artists of the Moscow underground. In 1975 he was accepted as a member of the Union of Artists of the USSR. However, he was not exhibited in the USSR until 1987.
Since 1989 - member of the Moscow Avangardists Club (KLAVA).
Prigov has been writing poetry since 1956. Until 1986 he was not published in his homeland. Until this time, he had been repeatedly published abroad since 1975 in Russian-language publications: in the newspaper “Russian Thought”, the magazine “A - Z”, the almanac “Catalogue”.
In 1986, after one of the street performances, he was forcibly sent for treatment to a psychiatric clinic, from where he was released thanks to the intervention of famous cultural figures inside and outside the country.
Prigov’s first collection of poetry, “Tears of the Heraldic Soul,” was published in 1990 by the Moscow Worker publishing house. Subsequently, Prigov published books of poetry “Fifty Drops of Blood”, “The Appearance of Verse after His Death” and prose books – “Only My Japan”, “Live in Moscow”.
The total number of Prigov's poetic works is over 35 thousand.
He was buried in Moscow, at the Donskoye Cemetery.
Bibliography
- Stichograms. - Paris: A-Z, 1985. - 32 p.
- Tears of the heraldic soul. - M.: Moscow worker, 1990. - 40 pp., 5,000 copies. ISBN 5-239-00991-0
- Fifty drops of blood. - M.: Text, 1993. - 112 pp., 3,000 copies.
- The appearance of the poem after his death. - M.: Text, 1995.
- Transcendent lovers. - M.: ARGO-RISK, 1995. - 16 p.
- A collection of warnings for various things. - M.: Ad Marginem, 1996. - 304 p.
- Appeals to the people. - M.: ITs Garant, 1996. - 80 p., 385 copies.
- Written from 1975 to 1989. - M.: NLO, 1997. - 288 p.
- Soviet texts. - St. Petersburg: Ivan Limbach Publishing House, 1997. - 272 p.
- Selected Prigov. - M.: publishing house of the Russian State University for the Humanities, 1997. - 262 pp., 1,000 copies.
- Eugene Onegin. - St. Petersburg: Red Sailor, 1998. - 56 p.; 2nd ed. St. Petersburg: Red Sailor, 2000.
- Written from 1990 to 1994. - M.: NLO, 1998. - 288 p. - ISBN 5-86793-041-6;
- Live in Moscow. Manuscript as a novel. - M.: NLO, 2000. - 352 p.
- Only my Japan. - M.: NLO, 2001. - 320 p.
- Calculations and establishments. Stratification and conversion texts. - M.: NLO, 2001. - 320 p.
- Child and death. - M.: Logos, 2002. - 144 p.
- Unfalse motives. - M.: ARGO-RISK; Tver: Column, 2002. - 88 p.
- Book of books. Favorites. - M.: Zebra E, EKSMO, 2002. - 640 p. - ISBN 5-94663-028-8.
- Three grammars. - M.: Logos-Altera, 2003. - 128 pp., 1,000 copies. - ISBN 5-98378-005-0.
- Renat and the Dragon (a romantic collection of individual prose passages). - M.: NLO, 2005. - 640 p. - ISBN 5-86793-366-0.
- Prigov D. A., Shapoval S. I. Portrait gallery D. A. P. - M.: NLO, 2003. - 168 p. - ISBN 5-86793-250-8.
- Variety of everything. - M.: OGI, 2007. - 288 p.
- Katya Chinese (someone else's story). - M.: NLO, 2007. - 240 pp., 1,500 copies.
- Citizens! Don't forget, please! / Exhibition catalogue. - M.: Moscow Museum contemporary art, 2008. - 272 pp., 1,000 copies.
- Live in Moscow. Manuscript as a novel. 2nd ed. - M.: NLO, 2009. - 352 pp., 2,000 copies. - ISBN 978-5-86793-662-4.
- D. A. Prigov Monads / Collected works in 5 volumes. Editor: Mark Lipovetsky. - M.: “New Literary Review”, 2013. - T. 1. - 814 p. - 3000 copies. -ISBN 978-5-4448-0035-5, 978-5-4448-0036-2.
- Cycle of poems “The Apotheosis of Militsaner” (Friendship of Peoples magazine, 1990, No. 4).
Awards
- Pushkin Prize of the A. Tepfer Foundation, Hamburg (1993).
- Scholarship holder of the German Academy of Arts.
- Boris Pasternak Prize (2002), nomination “Artist in Power”
