Viktor Krivulin
Viktor Krivulin Poems
The poems after poems, they look like poems
and not like poems
there is a smell of threadbare skin from them
of heated metal - well, so what,
...
let it be someone good
who would come to us and say:
it is not scary to live life is shorter
than sunbeam bouncing
...
let it be someone good
who would come to us and say:
it is not scary to live… life - in short -
is not a road but a station
...
sit down dumbass on a hillock
write dumbass this landscape
of Kierkegaardshire your native village
after screaming and fights
...
in the darkness torn by light
are the eyes ever begging
do they roam nude over slippery objects
bumping into faces, corners, holy images
...
it is strange already two wars
have passed, and a third is on its way
but there is no Tolstoy
neither in body nor in nature
...
none shall keep the head in the clouds above the balkans
with impunity — even for two
the earth is not enough, and for a single person
it is indeed like a drop in the bucket —
...
Viktor Krivulin Biography
Viktor Krivulin spent the most of his life in Leningrad/Saint-Petersburg. He graduated in philology from Leningrad University but opted for independent cultural activity and worked mostly as a watchman, editor of short living leaflets of sanitary education etc. while heading at the same time some important institutions of Russian uncensored literature of 1970-ies, like '37' and 'Severnaya Pochta' (The Northern Post) samizdat magazines. In 1978 he became the first winner of Andrei Bely literary prize and then for more than ten years participated in running this award. Krivulin's first poetry collection was published in 1981 in Paris and was followed with the two volumes of selected poems appeared ther in 1988; his first book in his country was published in 1990. During the last decade of his life Krivulin was very active as publicist and social activist.)
The Best Poem Of Viktor Krivulin
The Poems After Poems
The poems after poems, they look like poems
and not like poems
there is a smell of threadbare skin from them
of heated metal - well, so what,
not write anymore? You'll die of boredom!
They will put a stone with the inscription: "Passer-by,
stop at this grave,
it is all rotten, and for the appeal "O Lord"
there is no strong rhyme, neither skillful hand,
neither opened mouth - so at least close the eyes".
In the distance, Chechens and Aztecs rumble
and here it is white and quiet as in a chemistry —
one moment vials tinkle on the counter,
another, a coin slips and rolls
across the tiles - but where to?! It landed on head
in the corner where the glory where the victorious thunder
rattle in verses in season and out of season
Translated from Russian by Tatiana Bonch-Osmolovskaya
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4/26/2024 1:27:36 AM # 1.0.0.1119
