Oiseau enferme dans son vol, il n "a jamais connu la terre, il n" a jamais eu d "ombre.
Paul Eluard1 It was raining non-stop. He then moved away, then again approached the earth, he gurgled, he gently rustled; it either fell slowly like snow, or swiftly flew by in light gray waves, crowding on the shiny asphalt. He also walked on the roofs and on the eaves, and on the hollows of the roofs, he flew into the slightest jagged walls and flew for a long time to the bottom of closed courtyards, the existence of which many inhabitants of the house did not know. He walked, as a man walks on snow, majestically and monotonously. He either descended like an out-of-fashion writer, or he flew high, high above the world, like those irrevocable years when there are still no witnesses in a person's life.
Under the awnings of the shops, a kind of closeness of wet people was created. They exchanged almost friendly glances, but the rain subsided treacherously, and they parted.
It also rained in the public gardens and over the suburbs, and where the suburb ended and the real field began, although it was somewhere incredibly far away, where, no matter how hard you try, you will never reach.
It seemed as if he was going over the whole world, that he connected all the streets and all the passers-by with his gray, salty fabric.
1 Like a bird closed in its flight, it never touched the ground, never cast its shadow on it.
Paul Eluard (fr.).
The horses were covered with darkened robes, and, just like in ancient Rome, beggars walked with sacks covering their heads.
In small streets, streams washed away bus tickets and tangerine peels.
But it also rained on the flags of the palaces and on the Eiffel Tower.
It seemed that the rough beauty of the universe dissolves and melts in it, as in time.
The periods of its quickening evenly repeated, it lasted and remained, and seemed to be its very fabric.
But if you look for a very long time and motionless at the wallpaper in your room or at the neighboring bluish wall on the other side of the courtyard, you suddenly realize that at some elusive moment twilight is mixed with the rain, and the world, washed out by the rain, sinks with double speed and disappears into them.
Everything changes in a room on a high floor, the pale yellow sunset lighting suddenly goes out, and it becomes almost completely dark in it.
But here again the edge of the sky is freed from the clouds, and a new white twilight illuminates the room.
Meanwhile, the clock is ticking and employees are returning from their offices, lanterns are lit far below, and their reflection appears ghostly on the ceiling.
Huge cities continue to suck in and exhale human dust. There are countless meetings of views, and always one of them is trying to win or giving up, looking down, slipping past. No one dares to approach anyone, and thousands of dreams diverge in different directions.
In the meantime, the seasons are changing, and spring is blooming on the rooftops. High, high above the street, it warms the pink squares of pipes and delicate gray metal surfaces, to which it is so good to cuddle all alone and close your eyes or, perched, read books forbidden by your parents.
High above the world in the darkness of night, snow falls on the roofs. It is barely visible at first, it accumulates, it is evenly and uniformly present. It darkens and melts. He will disappear, never seen by man.
Then, almost flush with the snow, suddenly, unexpectedly and without transitions, summer comes.
Huge and azure, it majestically opens and hangs over the flags of public buildings, over the fleshy green of the boulevards and over the dust and touching tastelessness of country cottages.
But in the intervals there are still some strange days, transparent and obscure, full of clouds and voices; they somehow shine in a special way and go out for a long, long time on the pinkish plaster of small distant houses. And the trams chime in a special and drawn-out way, and the acacias smell of a heavy, sweet cadaverous smell.
How huge is the summer in the deserted cities, where everything is half-closed and people move slowly, as if in water. How beautiful and empty are the skies above them, like the skies of the rocky mountains, breathing dust and hopelessness.
Drenched in sweat, head down, almost unconscious, I descended the great river of the Parisian summer.
I unloaded the wagons, watched the speeding gears of the machines, hysterically lowered hundreds and hundreds of dirty restaurant plates into the boiling water. On Sundays I slept on the parapet of the fortification in a cheap new suit and indecent yellow boots. After that, I simply slept on the benches and during the day, when my acquaintances went to work, on their crumpled hotel beds in the depths of gray and hot tuberculosis rooms.
I shaved and combed my hair carefully, like all beggars. In libraries I read scientific books in cheap editions with idiotic underlining and marginal remarks.
I wrote poems and read them to my roommates, who drank cheap gas-green wine and sang in false voices, but with undisguised pain, Russian songs, the words of which they hardly remembered. After that, they told jokes and laughed in a cigarette haze.
I recently arrived and just left my family. I stooped, and my whole appearance wore an expression of some kind of transcendental humiliation, which I could not throw off myself like a skin disease.
I wandered around the city and among acquaintances. Immediately repenting of my arrival, but remaining, I with humiliating politeness carried on endless, languid and boring foreign conversations, interrupted by sighs and drinking tea from poorly washed dishes.
“Why have they all stopped brushing their teeth and walking upright, those yellow-faced people? Apollo Bezobrazov laughed at the emigrants.
Dragging my feet, I left my relatives; dragging my thoughts, I left God, dignity and freedom; dragging days, I lived to be 24 years old.
In those years, the dress on me crumpled and settled by itself, ashes and crumbs of tobacco covered it. I rarely bathed and liked to sleep without undressing. I lived in the twilight. At dusk, I woke up on someone else's crumpled bed. He drank water from a glass that smelled of soap, and looked out into the street for a long time, puffing on the butt of a cigarette thrown by the owner.
Then I dressed, long and contritely examining the soles of my boots, turning the collar inside out, and carefully combing the parting - a special coquetry of the beggars, trying to show with these and other pitiful gestures that nothing had happened.
Then, stealthily, I went out into the street at that extraordinary hour when the huge summer dawn was still burning, not burning out, and the lanterns, already in yellow rows, like some kind of huge procession, were seeing off the dying day.
But what, in fact, happened in the metaphysical sense because a million people were deprived of several Viennese sofas of a dubious style and paintings of the Netherlands school of little-known authors, undoubtedly fake, as well as duvets and pies, from which they irresistibly tend to a heavy after-dinner sleep, similar to death from which a man rises utterly disgraced? “Isn’t it lovely,” said Apollon Bezobrazov, “and all these wrinkled and faded emigrant hats, which, like dirty gray and half-dead felt butterflies, sit on poorly combed and balding heads. And timid pink holes that either appear or disappear at the edge of a worn-out shoe (Achilles' heel), and the absence of gloves, and the gentle greasyness of ties.
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The prose of Boris Poplavsky (1903-1935) is an original and significant phenomenon, contemporaries believed that in it Poplavsky's talent "was even almost brighter than in poetry" (W. Weidle). Deeply lyrical, it is at the same time thoroughly philosophical and full of drama. The heroes of the novels are Russian emigrants who are trying to comprehend their fate and find their place on this earth.
Oiseau enferme dans son vol, il n "a jamais connu la terre, il n" a jamais eu d "ombre. Paul EluardOiseau enferme dans son vol, il n "a jamais connu la terre, il n" a jamais eu d "ombre.
Paul EluardIt rained non-stop. He then moved away, then again approached the earth, he gurgled, he gently rustled; it either fell slowly like snow, or swiftly flew by in light gray waves, crowding on the shiny asphalt. He also walked on the roofs and on the eaves, and on the hollows of the roofs, he flew into the slightest jagged walls and flew for a long time to the bottom of closed courtyards, the existence of which many inhabitants of the house did not know. He walked, as a man walks on snow, majestically and monotonously. He either descended like an out-of-fashion writer, or he flew high, high above the world, like those irrevocable years when there are still no witnesses in a person's life.
Under the awnings of the shops, a kind of closeness of wet people was created. They exchanged almost friendly glances, but the rain subsided treacherously, and they parted.
It also rained in the public gardens and over the suburbs, and where the suburb ended and the real field began, although it was somewhere incredibly far away, where, no matter how hard you try, you will never reach.
It seemed as if he was going over the whole world, that he connected all the streets and all the passers-by with his gray, salty fabric.
The horses were covered with darkened robes, and, just like in ancient Rome, beggars walked with sacks covering their heads.
In small streets, streams washed away bus tickets and tangerine peels.
But it also rained on the flags of the palaces and on the Eiffel Tower.
It seemed that the rough beauty of the universe dissolves and melts in it, as in time.
The periods of its quickening evenly repeated, it lasted and remained, and seemed to be its very fabric.
But if you look for a very long time and motionless at the wallpaper in your room or at the neighboring bluish wall on the other side of the courtyard, you suddenly realize that at some elusive moment twilight is mixed with the rain, and the world, washed out by the rain, sinks with double speed and disappears into them.
Everything changes in a room on a high floor, the pale yellow sunset lighting suddenly goes out, and it becomes almost completely dark in it.
But here again the edge of the sky is freed from the clouds, and a new white twilight illuminates the room.
Meanwhile, the clock is ticking and employees are returning from their offices, lanterns are lit far below, and their reflection appears ghostly on the ceiling.
Huge cities continue to suck in and exhale human dust. There are countless meetings of views, and always one of them is trying to win or giving up, looking down, slipping past. No one dares to approach anyone, and thousands of dreams diverge in different directions.
In the meantime, the seasons are changing, and spring is blooming on the rooftops. High, high above the street, it warms the pink squares of pipes and delicate gray metal surfaces, to which it is so good to cuddle all alone and close your eyes or, perched, read books forbidden by your parents.
High above the world in the darkness of night, snow falls on the roofs. It is barely visible at first, it accumulates, it is evenly and uniformly present. It darkens and melts. He will disappear, never seen by man.
Then, almost flush with the snow, suddenly, unexpectedly and without transitions, summer comes.
Huge and azure, it majestically opens and hangs over the flags of public buildings, over the fleshy green of the boulevards and over the dust and touching tastelessness of country cottages.
But in the intervals there are still some strange days, transparent and obscure, full of clouds and voices; they somehow shine in a special way and go out for a long, long time on the pinkish plaster of small distant houses. And the trams chime in a special and drawn-out way, and the acacias smell of a heavy, sweet cadaverous smell.
How huge is the summer in the deserted cities, where everything is half-closed and people move slowly, as if in water. How beautiful and empty are the skies above them, like the skies of the rocky mountains, breathing dust and hopelessness.
Drenched in sweat, head down, almost unconscious, I descended the great river of the Parisian summer.
I unloaded the wagons, watched the speeding gears of the machines, hysterically lowered hundreds and hundreds of dirty restaurant plates into the boiling water. On Sundays I slept on the parapet of the fortification in a cheap new suit and indecent yellow boots. After that, I simply slept on the benches and during the day, when my acquaintances went to work, on their crumpled hotel beds in the depths of gray and hot tuberculosis rooms.
I shaved and combed my hair carefully, like all beggars. In libraries I read scientific books in cheap editions with idiotic underlining and marginal remarks.
I wrote poems and read them to my roommates, who drank cheap gas-green wine and sang in false voices, but with undisguised pain, Russian songs, the words of which they hardly remembered. After that, they told jokes and laughed in a cigarette haze.
I recently arrived and just left my family. I stooped, and my whole appearance wore an expression of some kind of transcendental humiliation, which I could not throw off myself like a skin disease.
I wandered around the city and among acquaintances. Immediately repenting of my arrival, but remaining, I with humiliating politeness carried on endless, languid and boring foreign conversations, interrupted by sighs and drinking tea from poorly washed dishes.
Why did they all stop brushing their teeth and walking upright, those yellow-faced people? - Apollon Bezobrazov laughed at the emigrants.
Dragging my feet, I left my relatives; dragging my thoughts, I left God, dignity and freedom; dragging days, I lived to be 24 years old.
In those years, the dress on me crumpled and settled by itself, ashes and crumbs of tobacco covered it. I rarely bathed and liked to sleep without undressing. I lived in the twilight. At dusk, I woke up on someone else's crumpled bed. He drank water from a glass that smelled of soap, and looked out into the street for a long time, puffing on the butt of a cigarette thrown by the owner.
Then I dressed, long and contritely examining the soles of my boots, turning the collar inside out, and carefully combing the parting - a special coquetry of the beggars, trying to show with these and other pitiful gestures that nothing had happened.
Then, stealthily, I went out into the street at that extraordinary hour when the huge summer dawn was still burning, not burning out, and the lanterns, already in yellow rows, like some kind of huge procession, were seeing off the dying day.
But what, in fact, happened in the metaphysical sense because a million people were deprived of several Viennese sofas of a dubious style and paintings of the Netherlands school of little-known authors, undoubtedly fake, as well as duvets and pies, from which they irresistibly tend to a heavy after-dinner sleep, similar to death from which a man rises utterly disgraced? “Isn’t it lovely,” Apollon Bezobrazov said, “and all these wrinkled and faded emigrant hats, which, like dirty gray and half-dead felt butterflies, sit on poorly combed and balding heads. And timid pink holes that either appear or disappear at the edge of a worn-out shoe (Achilles' heel), and the absence of gloves, and the gentle greasyness of ties.
Wouldn't Christ, if he were born in our day, would not go without gloves, in worn boots and with a half-dead hat on his head? Isn't it clear to you that Christ would certainly not have been allowed into many places, that he would have been bald and that under his nails there would have been black rims?
But I did not understand all this then. I was deathly afraid to enter a store, even if I had enough money. I blushed crookedly while talking to the police.
I suffered decisively from everything, until I suddenly crossed the limit of impoverishment and, with some ominous Christian pride, began to expose my torn, wet shoes, which champed at every step.
But, especially in the summer, I often didn’t care anymore. I ate bread right on the street, without even shaking off the crumbs.
I read newspapers picked up from the floor.
I proudly stepped out with my chest wide open, narrow and hairless, and looked at the passers-by with an absent and drowsy look, like superiority.
My summer happiness was freed from all hope, but I gradually began to find that this hopelessness is sweet and civil death is very habitable, and that sometimes there is a certain bitter and downright ancient grandeur in it.
I began to assume ancient poses, that is, the poses of weak and narrow-shouldered Stoic philosophers, striking, probably in their frankness due to the peculiarities of Roman clothing, which does not hide the physique.
“The Stoics didn’t shave well either,” I thought, “just washed well.”
And once, it’s true, at night, right from the embankment, naked, I swam in the Seine.
But all this was hard for me.
My soul was looking for someone's presence, which will finally free me from shame, from hope and from fear, and my soul found it.
Then a certain ominous impoverished paradise began, which led me and a few others to an insane fear of losing that underground black sun, which, like barren Seth, illuminated it. My weak soul sought protection. She was looking for rocks in whose shade she could look around at the dusty, sunny and hopeless world. And fall asleep in her shadow in the sunny wilderness, with insane gratitude to the stone heated by the sun, which does not know anything about your existence ...
It was just such a person who appeared, for whom there was no past, who despised the future and always stood facing some landscape scorched by the sun, where nothing moved, everything was asleep, everything was dreaming, everything saw itself sleeping in a dream.
Apollo Bezobrazov was all in the present. It was like a golden wheel without top and without bottom, spinning in vain from the perfection of the world, beyond the program and free of charge, on which stood someone invisible, admired by the world with his terrifying happiness.
Everything turned to stone in his presence, as if he were Medusa.
The world seemed like a huge, red-hot, stone landscape, one of those landscapes of the Atlas Mountains, reminiscent of hell, over which Simon the Magus flew through the air.
But he was not cruel. The slightest herbs could grow in his presence and birds could sit on his arms, so absent was he. And he was somewhere far, far away, on the other side of dawns and sunsets, where time and eternity, and day and night, Osiris and Seth, and all the living and all the dead, and all the future, and all the hopes, and all the voices are present together and never part, and never fall silent, and from where, with tears in their eyes, they descend into life.
So sometimes you travel around the city, as if through a virgin forest. After crossing a hundred tram lines, stopping at many corners, I went to the river, moved away from it and returned to it again. The sun was setting over the brown trees of the embankment that he had burnt, over the soft purple asphalts, and over the souls of people filled to the brim with the warm and vague, beautiful and hopeless weariness of the urban forest. On the orange water, on a small boat near the embankment, a human figure sat motionless, which seemed quite small from this bridge. I don’t know how long I stood on the bridge, but every time I turned my eyes in her direction, the figure continued to sit motionless, without turning or changing position, with a carelessness and insistence that seemed to me at first useless, then ridiculous, and finally downright provocative.
All fishermen are dreamers, I thought, but this man was not even a fisherman and therefore had no excuse for his defiant immobility.
Finally, after probably a whole hour of patient mockery, I suddenly felt like going downstairs and making this man rise or turn, or, finally, just show him with a look that he had no right to such behavior. Except for the right of a completely stupid or, finally, just a sleeping person, or simply the right of beggars, who sometimes, with amazing physical restraint, in incredibly uncomfortable positions, ossify on the benches of public gardens.
Finally, having lost all patience, I went downstairs, awkwardly, like a conspirator, walking over large stones, I approached a flat-bottomed boat, in which, on an iron chain and a yards from the shore, the mysterious man had probably sailed away for several hours, remaining in place. At first, with feigned modesty, I walked past him, but then, seeing that he did not pay any attention to me, downright in despair, I stopped in front of the boat itself and stared into his unusually strong-willed profile - a mixture of tenderness and rudeness, beauty and ugliness.
At first glance, this profile had an almost comical expression, but there was something in it that completely discouraged even the inveterate joker from laughing.
It was quite obvious that this man had noticed me for a long time. He even hesitated for one minute whether to turn his head in my direction, but then he decided with charming conservatism to continue to look at the fiery hair of the drowning sun fluttering magnificently across the sky. His clean-shaven face seemed to be carved out of copper, and his eyes had that special, but rather characteristic expression of women, which appears in secular people when they see something perfectly, but, even better, do not notice. Finally, I took two steps back and, with the unusual ease of a fit of hysteria, jumped into the boat. This strange act is explained by the fact that for several minutes in general everything was very strange, everything was floating on the open sea of extraordinaryness, but the extraordinaryness of a kind of self-moving, self-developing, extraordinaryness of dreams and the most important events of the realm of memories, which also happened as if by themselves, also carried by some - a fair wind of predestination, fate and death.
Sitting motionless slightly smiled, as if waiting for this, but continued to sit, barely gliding over me with an expressionless look of people willingly, but ironically, inviting me to sit down. Now his face was clearly visible, all illuminated by the magnificent fading of the cooling sky. This face was so ordinary and, at the same time, so strange, so banal and, at the same time, so wonderful that I was very for a long time as if immersed in it, although it was impenetrable, even suddenly calming down from surprise. I had completely forgotten the extraordinary way in which I appeared in the boat.
Under a gray cap skillfully shifted to one side, as if flown here from a fox movie depicting the life of the scum of New York, small wide-spaced blue eyes stared evenly, firmly and even good-naturedly, which had that feature that I clearly realized much later and extremely rare among Europeans, a peculiarity, consisting in the fact that they expressed absolutely nothing.
That is why I ascribed good nature to them from the first time, for absolutely everything could be attributed to them. God forbid you, dear reader, ever meet with such good nature, for the good nature of Apollo Bezobrazov, perhaps, was precisely his most terrible feature.
Finally, this man changed his comfortable position to another, obviously even more comfortable one, which I probably would have had to look for for an hour, after which I would not have sat in it for more than five minutes. He leaned on his left elbow and right hand pulled out a packet of yellow cigarettes and flat matches. Then he lit a cigarette and threw the match overboard, observing at the same time such economy in movements and such artistic simplicity of them that I, who was beginning to be shy in the depths of my soul, again portrayed the strongest anger in her upper layers.
Then Apollo Bezobrazov averted his eyes from the cold sky and mockingly looked at me. His eyes were by no means like the eyes of a hypnotist, they did not shine either mysteriously or languidly, they did not darken, but turned evenly with his face, not like living beings, but rather like thick lentils of beautiful acetylene lamps on the towers of lighthouses. But these eyes were by no means glassy, rather, their transparency was clouded by something, as happens with Europeans who have lived for a long time under the tropics, or with opium smokers; but these eyes were by no means sleepy, they were neither asleep nor awake. They were ordinary eyes, expressing nothing at all. They were very special eyes, which I have never seen the like.
Now Apollo Bezobrazov looked at me for quite a long time, and, obviously, this staring had its phases, gradually canceling one another. Probably my image passed through shadow and light. Many professions and worldviews tried on him and did not take root, because Apollon Bezobrazov, who never made mistakes in people, loved to hesitate, loved to affirm and deny at the same time, loved to maintain contradictory judgments about a person for a long time, until suddenly, like a sudden process of crystallization, from a dark laboratory a distinct and closed judgment did not come out of his soul, containing also a moment of proof, which later remained inseparable for a person, like leprosy or a trace of a gunshot wound. This reflected some special, purely intellectual morality of his, or rather, an extremely moral attitude towards his thoughts, as if they were living beings, in relation to which he remained completely passive, as if not wanting to force their development in any way.
What can you say about N.? - I once asked him about a certain person who had bothered us for a long time and finally died and, undoubtedly, could not add anything to the complex of memories associated with him.
I can’t say anything about him, but I’m waiting, ”he answered, talking about himself, as if about a river or a waterfall along which something was supposed to float from somewhere.
But I guessed about all these transformations of my being for him only much later, when I noticed that Apollo Bezobrazov treats me as if I really were both a fool and smart, and weak and strong, and tenderly interested in him and far from him. endlessly. On the same memorable day, or rather evening, this staring seemed to me completely useless, like looking at the patterns on the wallpaper, and therefore insulting, so Apollo Bezobrazov's look was unchanged, simple and majestically banal, like the look of the Gioconda or the glass eyes in the shop windows of opticians. It seemed that with this look it was impossible to extract absolutely nothing from existence, although, in essence, Apollo Bezobrazov did not listen to his interlocutors at all, but only guessed about the hidden meaning of their words from the imperceptible movements of their hands, eyelashes, knees and feet and, thus, unmistakably reached the point of what, in fact, the interlocutor wanted to say, or, rather, what he wanted to hide.
But, in fact, the look of Apollo Bezobrazov was not even offensive, he did not deign to give us the right to be offended, he glided smoothly and remained at the same time, he rested and was indelible, like a reflection from a window. Then Apollo Bezobrazov suddenly stood up slowly and, with a gesture of Xerxes ordering the sea to be flogged, threw the half-smoked cigarette into the water, then, in the same beautiful and economical way in which he did everything, he took off and again put his cap on his very eyes and prepared to jump out of the boat, but changed his mind and, pulling her by the chain, calmly stepped off her with a somewhat old man's squatting on one leg.
Apollon Bezobrazov had the narrow, but perfectly straight shoulders of Greek youths, and unusually narrow hips, giving his figure the appearance of an Egyptian bas-relief or an American sailor. He was a fairly good light athlete, and his whole body was as if carved from a yellowish orange tree, although he did not at all have the appearance of a strong man.
Then I also awkwardly jumped off the boat (for some reason, he suddenly got off, and I jumped off) and followed him, firmly deciding not to lag behind this man a single step until he had a fight with me or accepted me into his circle, because that around him there was always, as it were, an invisible, regular, but impenetrable circle, even for those whom he held in his arms or hit in the face, although I noticed that in a conversation with the simplest people - sailors, circus acrobats or women - this circle suddenly disappeared, although, perhaps, precisely because for them this circle did not exist, and it became almost cordial, for Apollon Bezobrazov, to the best of his strength and laziness, always tried to hide his profession and education, and downright became angry and moved away from a man who, having long miscalculated him as a pleasant and close-minded person, suddenly changed his mind about him, studying and artistically imitating the small movements of very simple people, their way of putting on a hat, greeting and lighting a cigarette. “After all, Christ came incognito,” he sometimes said, “and it’s probably not shameful for us, mere mortals, to defend ourselves from those impolite and tastelessly demanding looks that we throw at obviously smart person, in our presence not interfering in a lively dispute. And Apollon Bezobrazov easily went forward, but suddenly turned around and, frowning, returned back to the boat. We sat in this boat for about an hour, at which time my fatigue, boredom, a sense of rivalry, a desire to leave and stay, a desire to ridicule Apollon Bezobrazov and, finally, almost rush at him with my fists, reached such an extent that this moment, in its excruciating sharpness unforgettable for me. But Apollon Bezobrazov, apparently, needed to think of something, to feel it, and he completely forgot about me, completely immersed in the intelligible contemplation of water and sky, which were constantly changing, green and blue, purple and remained the same.
Slowly, like mourning illuminations in the rain, green gas lamps lit up along the embankment. Cars and trucks whirred past, and the dusty trees swayed to the shrill and distant music. It was the night of July 14, and somewhere crackers were already clapping and children were squealing, and the moon was rising over the river, and, perhaps, Apollo Bezobrazov was waiting for her. Huge, dull orange, like the sun, finally conquered by gravity, like a drunken sun, like a lying sun, she looked with her single and still warm eye without a pupil, crushing the warm iron roof and the distant low islands with her gigantic weight.
Then she rose a little higher and brightened up and, like the trembling hands of a man awakened from a seizure, she extended a white line of reflection across the water towards us.
In the meantime, from the opposite side, distant shots of rockets quietly clapped, and undersized bushes began to grow and fall, to light up and go out, the fantastic vegetation of fireworks. Quietly they rose above the river, burst and faded, leaving gray burnt twins in the air.
Finally, there was the last explosion, chaotic, like the parting of a man from sleep, and the singing of trumpets and violins, the squealing of clarinets, and the clatter of cymbals, frequent as a death knell, became clearly audible. Now the sky was blue, the water was black, the moon was white, and our faces were dark grey. Apollo Bezobrazov suddenly waved his arms in the air, as if floating out of something, then this movement turned into a skillful sipping of a pleasantly tired person, and we got up, went down from the boat and climbed the bridge.
So, like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, like Dante and Virgil, like two enemies, like two friends, like two banal passers-by, we walked through deserted streets, through deserted squares and boulevards, until we suddenly found ourselves in a crowd of dancing, a crowd of frantic and turned pink, which, scattered at the moment the music stopped, looked at us with a half-open mouth, as if looking for confirmation of something, let's say that today is a holiday and everything is fine, and, not finding it, immediately turned away. As they deepened into the night, the musicians became more and more red and cheerful, as if they were getting fat before our eyes. They drank beer, panting and spilling it. They puffed up and continued to play with incredible tension and the same endurance. It seemed as if the horse would have wept with fatigue and walked away, waving, but they all continued to play, although they seemed already ready to die. Sometimes there was a war between two orchestras trying to outplay each other: one had trombone and saxophones, the other had monotonous old men trying to make as much noise as possible; Of course, the first ones won.
Soon we came to the boulevard Saint-Michel, climbed it and, like two conspirators, began to approach the Montparnasse quarter, where the international bohemia, almost entirely consisting of people who despise France, makes the most noise and fun on the day of July 14th. But Apollon Bezobrazov and I had long since become accustomed to the spectacle, and finding a table doused with beer on the very outskirts of the dancers, we sat down, like our own people, to watch other people's dances.
Then Apollon Bezobrazov called the footman, and the footman unexpectedly obeyed, and ordered him a simple white wine, which he continued to drink throughout this short summer night.
He drank a lot, without squinting or blinking, apparently getting drunk quickly. At eleven o'clock at night he seemed completely drunk, at about one he seemed to be sober again, and at two o'clock even his eyes turned pink from alcohol, and he, trying to get out of time with the music, slowly waved his red hand in the air and did not notice this. Then, when I thought he was completely drunk, I suddenly asked him to ridicule him:
How old are you?
Then he suddenly immediately stopped his hand, which he seemed to be completely incapable of, and quite distinctly and indifferently said:
As much as you.
Having said this, he again began to wave his hand, and again out of time with the music. Obviously, it was pleasant for him to wave out of time, although it was very difficult, because at the late hour of this stuffy night, it seemed that even the houses and trees softened from music and from voluptuousness and, like solid multi-colored jelly, slowly vibrated along with people. to the beat of the majestic-vulgar music of orchestras.
It seemed that even the warm asphalt rose and fell at her touch, and, obviously, only one Apollo Bezobrazov still defended himself from her, but he suddenly stopped his hand, and stood up, and on soft, like rubber legs, passed between the dancers and got lost in the darkness. . Five minutes later he returned with a whole company that clapped him on the shoulder, cheered and sang - apparently with his company, which he knew exactly where to find.
I, too, immediately began to slap on the shoulder and almost kissed me with drunken lips, on which brown crumbs of tobacco were stuck.
Together they began to sing rudely and very cheerfully, although the songs were very tender and very sad. Then Apollo Bezobrazov argued with a pale seventeen-year-old youth wearing a ready-made dress, with an inappropriate and helplessly tender smile on his full lips, about which of them would jump over more chairs.
They put one and two chairs in the middle of the pavement, and both jumped over the obstacle, then they put up three chairs, and Apollon Bezobrazov jumped over, and this young man at the end of the jump sat down on the ground and hit hard, but did not notice this, for he was completely drunk.
Apollo Bezobrazov with incredible cruelty invited him to jump over four chairs. When four chairs were placed, they began to gather around, because, indeed, it was almost impossible for a drunk person to jump over this long yellow fence.
The young man ran up and stopped, as if waking up, and walked away again, but Apollon Bezobrazov did not let him stop a second time. He shouted strangely at him, and he, as if in a dream, separated from the ground and fell into the very thick of yellow iron and broken glasses. Apollon Bezobrazov, completely ignoring him, again put all the chairs in one row and, smiling, took off his cap.
I noticed that he took off his cap only on rare occasions in life, and then he became downright dangerous. He went quite far, then even further, then again even further, which was already downright stupid, the run was too big, now I saw how he was rising upper lip, exposing even teeth, and suddenly - broke off and ran; the run was really too long, running past me, he obviously noticed this and slowed down a little, but there were still five steps to the chairs. It seemed that he would stop, but he made some strange sound, as if gasping, a sound full, as it seemed to me, of incredible gloating and some kind of wild triumph, and, just flying the last three steps, he jumped - and jumped over the obstacle , throwing up his legs to the very head and touching only the back of the fourth chair, from which he fell on his hands and literally flew over his head, and, immediately finding himself on his feet, laughed with such frank pleasure that we all involuntarily fell silent.
Now Apollo Bezobrazov sat completely still, although his face, in complete contrast to this, was lit up and disfigured by the reflection of that most cruel surge of will that he had just experienced.
He sat quietly and seemed to be enjoying himself, although the corners of his lips were still caked with blood from broken gums, which he spat far away onto the pavement.
Thus ended my first attempt to form a definite opinion about him and place him in a certain category, for example, a solitary philosopher, ended as sadly as many subsequent ones. Apollo Bezobrazov, to whom I had already begun to get used and even look with that possessive eye with which we look at everything understandable, suddenly moved away from me into the primordial darkness, as it always happened later when I tried to calm down regarding him on a certain thought - as if to sit down on a chair in his presence.
The personality of Apollon Bezobrazov never allowed him to sit down in his presence, she kept his interlocutor in continuous and sweet anxiety, which causes us great idea pure possibility. For him, there was no internal fate, to which souls are subject even more than bodies - to external fate. His yesterday's feelings did not oblige him to anything today. And often, after some absence, I almost could not recognize him at a meeting, even his gait changed, the sound of his voice. To know Apollon Bezobrazov for a long time meant attending an equally long, varied and immeasurably beautiful theatrical performance, to sit in front of a stage on which the color of the clouds is constantly changing and the rivers flow back every second and along a new channel; some people pass, smile, say beautiful, strange and almost meaningless things; they meet, they part and never come back, for Apollon Bezobrazov was surrounded on all sides by the characters of his dreams, which he embodied in himself one by one, continuing himself to be invariably present, as it were, outside his own soul, or rather, not he was present, but some other was present in him, both sleeping and dreaming, and jokingly incarnated in his dreams, and this other held me in his power, although I was often stronger than his next incarnated double.
"When will the sleeper wake up?" - I thought, and clearly felt that never, that for him we all have exactly the same degree of reality as those of our dreams that we, while continuing to sleep, are nevertheless aware of as dreams, that is, the smallest of those available to us.
It was as if he was always beside himself, and, often even correcting himself, like a lied actor, he turned into his opposite and into the opposite of this opposite. But this new opposition was not his original “I”, but some new, third state, like the final return of the spirit to itself before death itself, but not to itself, because the “I” of a person then does not embrace, but is embraced, not surrounds from all sides, like an atmosphere, but, on the contrary, it is as if surrounded on all sides by our being, like a golden island, like an island at sunset, like an island of death.
But gradually the unusual excitement of Apollo Bezobrazov ceased, his eyes cooled and turned into what they were usually, and some kind of wild will visibly emanated from him, his posture lost its tension, and he seemed to hang on a chair.
For a minute it seemed to me that he fell asleep, and he really slept for one minute, and his hand automatically propped up his usually easily carried head, and a frightened and disgusting smile slowly crept on his lips, like a blind snake. But a minute later he was awake again, drinking light green wine, like a thick fog, and smoking cigarette after cigarette, surrounding himself with clouds of blue smoke, for Apollo Bezobrazov did not inhale, and the smoke coming out of the nostrils of a man who did not inhale was blue, and others - yellowish-gray.
Having crossed the extreme limit of intoxication, appointed for that night, I also began to gradually sober up, and the multi-colored haze surrounding us, in turn surrounded by a dark haze, was dismembered and disintegrated into separate dancers, into separate tables covered with husks of kakouet, into separate faces, unusually red. or extraordinarily pale over collars crumpled and blackened during the night.
I felt nauseous and fell asleep.
Finally, I started to feel really sick, and I went to lavabo.
Finally it began to get light. The east turned blue evenly, and in the distance, over the heads of the dancers, the green stars of the lanterns began to slowly fade.
A bright-fingered Venus rose above the Gare Montparnasse, and the sky turned pink, ready to wake up. From inside and outside, something also woke up, fell silent and blossomed. My adversary's face was almost perfect now, blue and purple gleams rising in the faltering light of the morning.
Tired and oddly still, it was brand new and not at all as solid as it had been that night. It softened, but somehow irrelevant, to nothing. It remained lifeless. It was the face of a completely different person. Extraordinarily deep dream lay on it, awake, and a changeable light. It was physically dreaming about something, elusively and slowly grimacing, squinting and smiling, although the strange spirit that lives in it obviously did not participate in this.
But it was a new dream, not explaining and not explainable by the previous one. All the past left no traces on him. It seemed that the violet rain of dawn washed away the memories of the night completely from it, and it even looked straight ahead in a somewhat surprised and motionless way.
And suddenly, physically tangible, like vomiting, from the bottom of the hump rose the most severe pity for this motionless. I began to choke, I leaned over the table and wept bitterly.
And now the blurred and bifurcated image gave a voice. He was sweet, cheerful and calm.
What is there to cry in good weather. Let's go to sleep better. Look, the sun has risen, everything is preparing for something, it's time to sleep with a huge dirty leg out from under the covers. And also - to wash with hot water, it's terribly pleasant to wash with hot water after a sleepless night, then you get younger, and it seems like a cheerful mood, and suddenly you fall asleep in a stone dream.
480 rub. | 150 UAH | $7.5 ", MOUSEOFF, FGCOLOR, "#FFFFCC",BGCOLOR, "#393939");" onMouseOut="return nd();"> Thesis - 480 rubles, shipping 10 minutes 24 hours a day, seven days a week and holidays
Razinkova Irina Egorovna The poetics of the novel by B.Yu. Poplavsky "Apollo Bezobrazov" in the context of the prose of Russian emigration at the turn of the 1920s - 1930s: dissertation ... candidate philological sciences: 10.01.01 / Razinkova Irina Egorovna; [Place of protection: Voronezh. state un-t].- Voronezh, 2009.- 174 p.: ill. RSL OD, 61 09-10/803
Introduction
Chapter 1. The Spiritual Atmosphere of Emigrant Literature of the Late 1920s-1930s 16
1.1 Understanding the “situation of emigration” by writers of the “younger generation” 16
1.2 Artistic Reality as a Territory of "Emigrant" Meanings (Nabokov and the Writers of the "Paris Note") 42
Chapter 2 Boris Poplavsky's novel "Apollo Bezobrazov": between symbolism and postmodernism 60
2. 1 The structure of the novel "Apollo Bezobrazov": the opposition of "reality" and "realities". Autocommunicative principle of text construction 60
2. 2 Elements of the Gothic topos in the poetics of the novel 75
2. 3 Deformations of the “heritage” of Russian symbolism. The categories of "earth" and "heaven" as structure-forming in the composition of the novel 89
Chapter 3 Poetics of the "surreal" in the novel "Apollo Bezobrazov" 101
3.1 Irrealization of the chronotope of Paris 101
3.2 "Emptiness" as the center of the system of characters in the novel. The hero's consciousness is a space for aesthetic play 111
3.3 The leitmotifs of "water" and "dust" are part of the structure of "interworld" in the novel 124
Conclusion 142
List of used literature 145
Introduction to work
In modern literary criticism, since the 1990s, the period of the first wave of Russian emigration of the 20th century has been studied in detail in relation to the "older" generation of writers. Compared with them, the work of “young” authors who ended up in exile while still teenagers and whose worldview was formed abroad is generally less studied. The only exceptions are, perhaps, the works of the currently recognized master V. Nabokov, the research interest in them only increases every year.
In recent years, the degree of study of the work of writers of the "younger generation" of the first wave of emigration has increased. The study of texts has become relevant in the light of the problem of the “situation of emigration” itself, that is, the “threshold”, “transition”, “border”. Therefore, it should be noted that the work of Boris Yulianovich Poplavsky, one of the most talented representatives of the "literary youth", the leading poet of the "Parisian note", is actively studied in today's Russian and foreign literary criticism.
In general, in the culture of the turn of the XX - XXI centuries. the relevance of the analysis of situations of transition as such has become aggravated. In modern humanities, there is a need to comprehend and identify similar phenomena in the past history and their impact on artistic processes, including literary creativity. Works on the study of "transition" as a problem of history, psychology, philosophy, art, culture, devoted to the study of transitional mentality in the literary process, are collected, for example, in the collection "Art in a situation of changing cycles: Interdisciplinary aspects of the study of artistic culture in transitional processes" (Art in situation, 2002). N. A. Yastrebova, S. T. Vayman, A. A. Pelipenko, N. A. Khrenov, O. A. Krivtsun and other authors express their points of view as a problem
artistic transition, and on the trends of the artistic consciousness of the 20th century.
When characterizing transitivity, the authors of the articles identify the following features of this multi-valued phenomenon: transition as a change in worldviews and, accordingly, changes in the perception of space and time; activation of myth and archetype in transitional situations; the cult of creativity in transitional epochs; discovery of the logic of "eternal return"; eschatological experience of history; activation of a marginal type personality; crisis of collective identity.
The works of N. A. Khrenov, K. V. Sokolov, E. V. Saiko, I. G. Yakovenko analyze the methodological aspects of studying culture in a situation of transition. The concept of transition is interpreted by scientists as multi-valued and is considered in cultural, sociological, historical aspects.
A. E. Makhov, N. A. Yastrebova, V. S. Turchin, S. S. Vaneyan, M. N. Boyko, O. A. Krivtsun, A. T. Tevosyan explore the transition as a subject of understanding the theory and history of art . Articles by I. V. Kondakov, S. T. Vayman, A. P. Davydov, V. S. Zhidkov, A. A. Pelipenko and others are devoted to the specifics of transitivity in Russian culture.
I. P. Smirnov’s monograph “The Artistic Meaning and Evolution of Poetic Systems” (Moscow, 1977) is also devoted to the problems of transition in art, in which the author builds a semiotic concept of changing literary systems.
In the context of the relevance of the problem of transition, in our work the phenomenon of the first Russian emigration is considered as a factor that determines the artistic thinking of the "borderland" and influences the poetics of the text. For the study, the monograph by E. V. Tikhomirova “Prose of the Russian Diaspora and Russia in the Postmodern Situation” (M., 2000) is of particular importance. The literary critic discusses the specifics of the conditions of creativity in emigration at the level of poetics, believes
"emigrant" quality not only of fate, but also of texts, and also reveals the "chronotope" of "otherworldliness" in many authors.
The prose of the younger generation of émigré writers of the first wave, and
specifically B. Poplavsky, seems to us the most interesting from the point of view
view of identifying the features of artistic thinking in conditions
"transition", "boundary". Finding in n/el^-space
(extraterritoriality), on the border of "one's own" and "foreign" literary traditions, has become a feature of emigre discourse and the structure of texts.
The context we have chosen - the prose of the literary youth of the first wave of emigration - is represented by the works of V. Nabokov-Sirin, G. Gazdanov, Y. Felzen, G. Evangulov, S. Sharshun, E. Bakunina, M. Ageev, V. Varshavsky, V. Yanovsky , N. Berberova. In modern literary criticism, in relation to the writers of interest to us, the term “unnoticed generation” has spread in connection with the title of the book by V. Varshavsky “The Unnoticed Generation”, published in New York in 1956. In the memoir-research genre, the author tries to recreate the collective image of the generation, to which he considers himself.
The time of the "unnoticed generation" in literary studies is usually limited from the mid-1920s to the early 1940s, and Paris is considered the place where young authors declared themselves most clearly, although the literary communities of Berlin, Harbin, and Prague also participated in cultural life. Russian abroad. At the same time, researchers, comprehending the phenomenon of "unnoticed", often narrow the circle of analyzed writers to the authors of the magazine "Numbers" and representatives of the "Paris Note". It is in the poetics of the works of these young emigrants that the “transitional” artistic consciousness was embodied, which is of interest for our dissertation work. It should be noted that the works of V. Nabokov and G. Gazdanov of the 1920s - 1930s are also referred to by researchers as the literary heritage of the younger generation.
An analysis of the prose of the younger generation at the turn of the 1920s - 1930s, in our opinion, is the most productive for describing the poetics of emigrant texts and the influence of the borderline “emigration situation” on it, since at that time the most significant (in the sense of poetic structure) ) works.
The dissertation research analyzes some features of the poetics of emigrant texts and their embodiment in B. Poplavsky's novel "Apollo Bezobrazov". The transitional nature of the prose of the Russian emigration at the turn of the 1920s - 1930s is studied in the work on the example of the poetics of the "surreal" in the novel by one of the brightest writers of the younger generation.
The novel "Apollo Bezobrazov" was created in the period 1926 - 1932. Separate chapters were published in the Parisian magazine "Numbers" (No. 2-3, 1930; No. 5, 1931; No. 10, 1934) and in the publication "Meetings", but the full text of the novel was not published during the life of the writer.
Critical reviews of the novel were already actively expressed by the writer's contemporaries. It should be noted that in the emigrant environment Poplavsky was famous, first of all, as a poet. However, G. Adamovich suggested that Poplavsky was destined to express himself more fully in prose, and not in verse. W. Weidle called the novel "fantastic" and revealed allusions to the work of E. Poe and A. Rimbaud. D. Merezhkovsky, after the publication of the last, 28th chapter of Apollo Bezobrazov in No. 5 of Chisel, angrily announced that he had given this issue of the magazine a chapter from his new work Jesus the Unknown, where it “appeared next to dirty blasphemy decadent novel by Poplavsky” (Poplavsky, 2000, p. 432).
Basically, the work and personality of Poplavsky were appreciated by his contemporaries after his death. Works by G. Gazdanov, N. Berdyaev, V. Khodasevich, G. Struve, G. Ivanov, Yu. Ivask, V. Varshavsky. Yu. Terapiano, A. Bakhrakh, N. Berberova, I. Odoevtseva, A. Sedykh, N. Tatishchev and others are collected in the book “Boris
Poplavsky in the assessments and memoirs of his contemporaries. These predominantly memoir essays do not contain a deep analysis of the writer's prose, however, they capture biographical features and provide much for understanding Poplavsky's personality.
Already classic studies of the Russian emigration of the first wave were the books of G. Struve "Russian Literature in Exile" (M. - Paris, 1996), M. Raev "Russia Abroad: The History of the Culture of Russian Emigration 1919 - 1939" (M., 1994), D. Glad “Conversations in exile. Russian Literary Abroad" (M., 1991), O. Mikhailova "Literature of the Russian Abroad" (M., 1995), A. Sokolov "The Fate of the Russian Literary Emigration of the 1920s" (M., 1991), a collection of articles edited by N. Poltoratsky "Russian Literature in Emigration" (Pittsburgh, 1972).
In the last decade, reviews and collections of articles on Russian emigration have appeared: V. Agenosov "Literature of the Russian Diaspora (1918 - 1996)" (M., 1998), O. Demidova "Metamorphoses in Exile: Literary Life of the Russian Diaspora" (St. Petersburg, 2003 ), T. Buslakova “Literature of the Russian Diaspora. Course of lectures” (M., 2003), E. Menegaldo “Russians in Paris. 1919 - 1939 "(M., 2007), B. Nosik "Russian secrets of Paris" (St. Petersburg, 2000), A. Martynov "Literary and philosophical problems of Russian emigration (collection of articles)" (M., 2005), collections " The Russian Diaspora is a spiritual and cultural phenomenon. Proceedings of the International Scientific Conference (M. 3 2003), Russian Culture of the 20th Century at Home and in Emigration: Names. Problems. Facts”, “Russian Abroad: An Invitation to Dialogue” (Kaliningrad, 2004), a collection of scientific papers compiled by L. A. Smirnova “Essays on the Literature of the Russian Diaspora” (M., 2000), a textbook in two parts “Literature of the Russian Diaspora (“ the first wave of "emigration: 1920 - 1940)" edited by A. I. Smirnova. (Volgograd, 2004), the three-volume "Literary Encyclopedia of the Russian Diaspora" (M., 2002) and other works. Not in line with traditional studies of the first Russian emigration, A. Azov’s monograph “The Problem of Theoretical Modeling
Self-Consciousness of an Artist in Exile: Russian Emigration of the "First Wave" (Azov, 1996). The author considers the experience of emigration on the basis of a theoretical model of interpretation of the act of creation of the world in Jewish religious hermeneutics, the mystical teaching of the Lurianic Kabbalah.
The work of the "younger" generation of émigré writers, including Boris Poplavsky, is considered in these books mainly as an overview. Over the past five years, more conceptual studies of the Russian emigration of the first wave have appeared. For example, dissertations by N. Letayeva “Young emigre literature of the 1930s: prose on the pages of the journal Numbers” (Moscow, 2003), A. Kokhanova “The moral experience of the Russian emigration of the first wave: an aspect of freedom” (St. Petersburg, 2003 ). In the work of M. Nemtsev “Stylistic Techniques of Cinema in the Literature of the Russian Diaspora of the First Wave” (M., 2004), the researcher examines emigrant texts from the point of view of the evolution of a realistic view of the world, the development of the aesthetics of modernism and analyzes the stylistic techniques that artists actively borrow from related arts. T. Marchenko in his doctoral dissertation “Prose of the Russian Abroad in the 1920s-1940s. in European critical reflection: the Nobel aspect” (M., 2008) formulates the “compensatory principle”, according to which the literature of the 20th century was able to express in its emigre formation those moral and artistic quests that were impossible in Soviet literature.
For our work, the monograph by I. Kaspe "The Art of Absence: The Unnoticed Generation of Russian Literature" (Moscow, 2005) is of great importance. I. Kaspe analyzes how the “unnoticed” model was created in emigration, reveals creative attitudes, popular behavioral strategies, value preferences, ways of self-presentation of the “younger” generation of writers of the first wave of emigration. The dominant literary trend among literary youth was
9 "Parisian note", with which all the younger generation of authors can be identified.
The study of the works and biography of Boris Poplavsky in the 80s of the XX century began foreign researchers. In the introduction to the first volume of the collection of poems of the writer (1980), published in Berkeley, S. Karlinsky and A. Olcott placed their articles (S. Karlinsky "The Alien Comet", A. Olcott "Poplavskij "s Life"), in which they noted In 1981, E. Menegaldo defended her doctoral dissertation in Paris, the materials of which were partially published in Literary Review (No. 2, 1996) and other journals, The Universe of Boris Poplavsky" (St. Petersburg, 2007). E. Menegaldo examines the poems of the collections "Flags" and "Snow Hour", using the approach to the text proposed by the French philosopher G. Bachelard, which allowed her to identify a network of associations related to the four natural elements. The researcher also notes the influence of the tradition of symbolism on Poplavsky's poems.
In 1990, in the book "Russian Emigre Literature in the Twentieth Century Studies and Texts: Russian poetry and criticism in Paris from 1920 to 1940" (Leuxenhoff Publishing), A. Gibson also analyzes exclusively the writer's poetry (article "Poplavskij "s Poetry").
In 1991, the American Slavists V. Kreid and I. Savelyev prepared the novel Apollo Bezobrazov for publication for the Moscow magazine Yunost. However, the chapter on the ball of Russian emigrants was not included in this edition. The novel ended with "The Diary of Apollo Bezobrazov", which Poplavsky did not include in the latest edition of the work.
In 1993, Louis Allen published two novels by the writer Apollo Ugly and Home from Heaven. In the introductory article “Home from heaven. On the fate and prose of Boris Poplavsky" Allen called the works "intellectual prose".
In Russia, A. Bogoslovsky is considered the first researcher of Poplavsky's work. In the article "The Seeker of Spiritual Freedom" ("New World", 1993, No. 9), he notes that in "Apollo Bezobrazov" the title character and the narrator are, in fact, doubles. This feature, according to the literary critic, conveys Poplavsky's inner struggle "in search of spiritual liberation."
In 1992, A. Bogoslovsky published the novel "Apollo Bezobrazov" in the "New Journal" (No. 187, 188, 189, New York). The literary critic prepared the work for publication based on a photocopy of the latest edition of the novel, which he received from Natalia Stolyarova, who knew Poplavsky closely in 1931-1934, shortly before her death in 1984. The Novy Zhurnal notes discrepancies both with the Moscow publication of 1991, and with the edition prepared by L. Allen. Our study is based on the text of the novel, prepared for publication by A. Bogoslovsky and E. Menegaldo and published in 2000 in the second volume of the three-volume collected works of the writer.
A. Bogoslovsky and E. Menegaldo in 1996 prepared for publication and accompanied with literary and biographical comments a book about Poplavsky "Unpublished: Diaries, articles, poems, letters" (M., 1996).
The study of Poplavsky's work in today's literary criticism is characterized by the following features. Like the writer's contemporaries, who noted the influence on the poems and novels of the writer A. Blok, A. Rimbaud, E. Poe, C. Baudelaire and other authors, literary critics today also often use the materials of Poplavsky's work in comparative works with other authors.
The studies in which the writer's works, including the novel “Apollo Bezobrazov” that interests us, are analyzed in the light of the influence of foreign (French) traditions, include O. Brunner's articles “Boris Poplavsky's Surrealistic Paris. "Apollo Bezobrazov" and "Parisian Peasant" by Louis Aragon" (Brunner, 2005), T. Buslakova
11 "Russian and French Landmarks in the Historical and Literary Concept of B. Yu. Poplavsky" (Buslakov, 2002), V. Khazan "On Some Subtexts of French Literature in the Works of Emigrant Writers (B. Poplavsky and A. Jarry)" (Khazan, 2005) , John M. Kopper "The "Sun" s Way" of Poplavskii and Ibsen" (Kopper, 2001) and others. A modern researcher of the first Russian emigration, a scientist at the University of Toronto L. Livak in his book "How it Was Done in Paris" , the article "The Surrealist Compromise of Boris Poplavsky" (New-York, 2003) considers Poplavsky's work mainly from the point of view of the influence of surrealist aesthetics.
Many works of scientists are devoted to a comparative analysis of Poplavsky's works with the prose of Russian authors. M. Galkina's studies “The Techniques of Dostoevsky's Poetics in the Fiction of Boris Poplavsky” refer to the influence on the writer's work of the classics of Russian literature, where the connection between the images of Bezobrazov and Stavrogin is analyzed; N. Osipova "Gogol in the semiotic field of poetry of the Russian emigration" and others.
The connection of Poplavsky's work with the traditions of the Silver Age is discovered by V. Toporov. Exploring the "psychophysiological" component of Mandelstam's poetry, he points out that this structure is also found in B. Poplavsky's poetry (Toporov, 1995). S. Roman’s dissertation “Ways of Embodiment of Religious and Philosophical Experiences in the Poetry of Andrei Bely and B. Yu. Poplavsky” (Orekhovo-Zuyevo, 2007) compares the works of two authors from the point of view of the development in them of the symbolism of female images, the image of the “soul of the universe”, the evolution of the symbol of Eternal Femininity, the solution of the conflict between the "earthly" and "heavenly". Interesting is the work of O. Latyshko "The Romance in a Frock Coat" by Boris Poplavsky (Latyshko, 2002), in which "Apollo Bezobrazov" is classified as a symbolist novel. The author of the article discovers direct parallels in the construction of the texts of Poplavsky and Bryusov "The Fiery Angel". In the dissertation research by N. Prokhorova “The concept of “life creation” in
12 the artistic picture of the world by B. Yu. Poplavsky” (Saransk, 2007) reveals the connection between the symbolist life-creating concept and the writer’s work.
From the point of view of the connection of creativity with the philosophy of existentialism, the reference in relation to Poplavsky is the name of his contemporary G. Gazdanov. Comparison of the works of the authors is devoted to the dissertation research by V. Zherdeva "Existential motives in the work of writers of the "Unnoticed Generation" of Russian emigration: B. Poplavsky, G. Gazdanov" (Zherdeva, 1999), the work of S. Semenova "Existential consciousness in the prose of the Russian abroad" (Semenova C, 2000). In some works, Poplavsky's work is associated with his other contemporaries. For example, N. Sirotkin finds parallels with the style of V. Mayakovsky. Poetic variations of Christian motifs in the lyrics of V. Nabokov and B. Poplavsky are analyzed by A. Vakhovskaya (Vakhovskaya, 1999). Stylistic intersections in the prose of both authors are also explored by A. Ledenev in the article “The Metaphor of “Life as a Dream” in the Novels of B. Poplavsky and V. Nabokov” (Ledenev, 2002). The proximity of the style of B. Poplavsky and K. Vaginov is noted by T. Buslakova (Buslakova, Ї999). Of contemporary authors, the work of Poplavsky, according to N.V. Barkovskaya, can be comparable with the poetry of Boris Ryzhy.
The dissertations of O. Latyshko “The model of the world in the novel by B. Yu. Poplavsky “Apollo Bezobrazov”” (Moscow, 1998), N. Andreeva (specialty “philosophy”) “Features of culture of the 20th century in the novel of Boris Poplavsky "Apollo Bezobrazov" (M., 2000), works by E. Menegaldo "Prose of Boris Poplavsky, or" a novel with painting "" (Menegaldo, 2005), I. Kaspe "Orientation on rough terrain: the strange prose of Boris Poplavsky" ( Kaspe, 2001), articles by N. Gryakalova "Travesty and Tragedy: The Literary Ghosts of Boris Poplavsky" (Gryakalova, 2008),
13 reading the novel by B. Poplavsky)” (1997), as well as studies by M. Galkina, N. Barkovskaya, S. Semenova, M. Shakirova and others.
Scientific novelty work is that from a new angle in the novel by B. Poplavsky "Apollo Bezobrazov" the deformation of the worldview of Russian symbolism is traced (replacement of "two-world" by "inter-world"). For the first time B. Poplavsky's prose is considered as an intermediate "link" between symbolism and only emerging artistic thinking of postmodernism. Scientific novelty also lies in the fact that for the first time a comparative study of the prose of B. Poplavsky and V. Nabokov was carried out from the point of view of the poetics of the "unreal".
Work structure: the dissertation consists of an introduction, 3 chapters, a conclusion and a bibliographic list, which includes 313 titles.
Research material: B. Poplavsky's novel "Apollo Bezobrazov", drafts, diaries, articles, letters of the writer, included in the book "Unpublished: Diaries, Articles, Poems, Letters" (M., 19966), as well as memoirs and critical works of contemporary emigrants. To outline the main features and techniques for creating artistic reality by the younger generation of emigration, the analysis involved the works of V. Nabokov - the novel "Feat" and the story "The Return of Chorba".
object research is the phenomenon of "transition" in the prose of the young generation of the first wave of Russian emigration at the turn of the 1920s - 1930s.
Subject research was the poetics of "unreal" in B. Poplavsky's novel "Apollo Bezobrazov".
Target work - to explore the poetics of B. Poplavsky's novel "Apollo Bezobrazov" from the point of view of identifying transitional features inherent in the artistic search for prose of the "young" generation of writers of the first wave of Russian emigration at the turn of the 1920s - 1930s.
Tasks, solved in the dissertation work to achieve the goal:
reveal the originality of the artistic comprehension of the "emigration situation" by the writers of the "young" generation of Russian emigration of the first wave;
to determine the features of the poetics of the “unreal” presented in the novel “Apollo the Ugly” and to trace how the features of the “unreal” penetrate all the structural levels of the work;
reveal the "transitional nature" of B. Poplavsky's novel "Apollo Bezobrazov" from modernism to postmodernism;
to analyze the novel by B. Poplavsky from the point of view of the influence on the structure of the text of the poetics of the symbolist novel, surrealism, elements of the Gothic chronotope;
5) outline the main features and methods of creating emigrant
texts of the 1920s - 1930s on the example of comparing the prose of two bright,
generation figures - Boris Poplavsky and Vladimir Nabokov.
Provisions for defense:
The "situation of emigration", characterized by the artist's stay in the extraterritorial cultural and ontological "l*&g-space", influenced the poetics of the texts of young emigrant writers of the first wave.
The autocommunicative model of constructing a text in the structure of B. Poplavsky's novel "Apollo Bezobrazov" is connected both with the direction of the emigrant discourse of the 1920s - 1930s as a whole (interest in the problem of self-identification, the dominance of the motive of alienation, being in "interspace", etc.), and with the aesthetic views of Boris Poplavsky, the peculiarities of his personality.
3. The novel by B. Poplavsky is a transitional artistic system,
as open as possible to possible interpretations: from symbolist,
post-symbolist and surrealist aesthetics to postmodernism.
4. In B. Poplavsky's novel, features of the artistic mythologization of space and time (the chronotope of the "surreal"), the creation of the territory of the "interworld", elements of the "poetics of wandering" of the heroes and the "Gothic topos", the presence of leitmotifs of "water", "dust" were found. The categories of "earth" and "sky" are structure-forming in the novel. All these artistic units form a common, characteristic for all levels of this work of Poplavsky, the poetics of the "surreal".
Methodology and research methods.
The dissertation research used the principles
structural, semiotic, biographical, comparative
historical methods.
The theoretical basis of our study is the work of literary critics Yu. M. Lotman, M. M. Bakhtin, V. N. Toporov, B. A. Uspensky, L. G. Andreev, Yu. , V. Zalomkina, M. N. Lipovetsky, N. F. Shveibelman, S. P. Ilyeva, S. T. Vayman, I. P. Smirnov, culturologists N. A. Khrenova, K. B. Sokolova, V. S. Zhidkov, I. G. Yakovenko^ anthropologist V. Turner.
Practical significance.
The method of studying the novel by B. Poplavsky "Apollo Bezobrazov" from the point of view of creating in it a special poetics of the "surreal" will allow similarly studying other texts of emigrant writers, which will expand and deepen literary knowledge about the heritage of the Russian emigration of the first wave. The dissertation research can be used in the practice of university studies of the literature of the Russian diaspora: "when preparing and reading a lecture course on the history of Russian literature of the 20th century, in conducting seminars on the problems of literature of the Russian diaspora of the first wave, in developing a special course on the work of émigré writers of the specified period.
Understanding the “situation of emigration” by writers of the “younger generation”
The 1917 revolution split Russian literature into "here" and "there". However, the question “one or two literatures?” in connection with the work of émigré writers, today it has been resolved in literary criticism in favor of the unity, and not the disunity of Russian culture.
The dispersion captured all continents, but several centers played a particularly important role in the formation and development of Russian literature abroad and culture in general: Paris, Berlin, Prague, Belgrade, Warsaw, Sofia, Constantinople and "Russian China" - the cities of Harbin and Shanghai. The first two European capitals turned out to be the most important for Russian culture. In this chapter, we will analyze the literary process in the French capital and, in part, in the German one.
Within the literary emigration there were groups and formations that developed various aesthetic concepts. However, for all the diversity of literary and artistic life, researchers quite clearly divide the generation of the first wave of Russian emigration into “older” and “younger”. Our work is of interest to the younger generation, a prominent representative of which was Boris Poplavsky.
The “senior” emigrants (I. Bunin, M. Tsvetaeva, V. Khodasevich, B. Zaitsev, D. Merezhkovsky, A. Remizov, G. Ivanov, etc.) left their homeland in more or less adulthood, many already recognized writers - in their work the themes of the lost Russian culture and way of life, nostalgia, the search for "eternal Russia" within the limits of foreign space sound most acute. The “younger” generation (B. Poplavsky, V. Sirin, G. Gazdanov, V. Varshavsky, S. Sharshun, Yu. Felzen, E. Bakunina, M. Ageev and others) found themselves in even more difficult spiritual conditions. Not having time to absorb the traditions and culture at home and finding themselves in foreign countries that met them by no means friendly, the "children of emigration" found themselves in a cultural inter-space. This is the position "between" the lost homeland, which did not even exist on the map in the form in which they remembered it (the USSR instead of Russian Empire), and a new foreign reality. Such a status was perceived as ontologically significant and was comprehended by many (G. Gazdanov, Yu. Felzen, etc.) in an existential sense.
The spiritual atmosphere in exile in the late 1920s - 1930s determined the nature of the texts of the "younger" writers of the first wave. Before proceeding to the analysis of the spatio-temporal organization and genre and style features of Boris Poplavsky's Apollon Bezobrazov, it is necessary to turn to the literary environment in which the author lived and worked, as well as to identify the main "general cultural" ideas that worried young Russian emigrants in Paris and manifested in their concept of literary creativity.
As you know, Poplavsky was a frequenter of the Montparnasse cafes, where at night the most important issues of culture, literature, and religion were heatedly discussed. The talk was about modern discoveries, latest research in the field of philosophy, theology, painting, art in general and, of course, literary creativity. "Stream of consciousness", "automatic writing", "human document" - these and other modernist techniques were actively mastered by foreign writers of the 1910s - 1920s. M. Proust, D. Joyce, A. Rimbaud, E. Poe, Lautreamont, C. Baudelaire were Poplavsky's favorite writers. From them he borrowed the technique of writing.
Researcher M. Raev in the famous work “Russia Abroad. The history of the culture of Russian emigration 1919 - 1939" writes: "The younger generation of émigré writers turned out to be more receptive to new trends that emerged both in the Soviet and in Western literature, ... they discovered a great interest in such manifestations of the human psyche, which cannot be explained from strictly materialistic, naturalistic and rationalistic positions. They were influenced by Proust and Kafka and felt perhaps even more strongly than theirs. older generation, the impact of the spiritual quest of the avant-garde and modernists of the 10-20s. Young prose writers, whose debut took place in exile, for example, Sirin (V. Nabokov), Yu. Felzen, B. Poplavsky, V. Yanovsky more or less adhered to this orientation” (Raev, 1994, pp. 145-146).
The experience of Russian symbolism is also important for Poplavsky - the idea of life-creation, understanding the process of creativity as theurgy, the opposition of the Dionysian and Apollonian principles in the world, the opposition of "heaven" and "earth".
Without knowing what ideas of the beginning of the century were most in demand by the minds of literary youth in exile, including B. Poplavsky as its bright representative, creative laboratory writer, and specifically - in the structure of the novel "Apollo Bezobrazov".
According to the general recognition of Poplavsky's contemporaries, he was the leading poet of such a literary phenomenon as the "Parisian note" of the Russian emigration. It was Poplavsky who described the group of young writers in this way (in the article “On the mystical atmosphere of young literature in emigration”, published in 1930 in the journal “Numbers” No. 2-3), mainly the authors of the émigré magazine “Numbers”, published in Paris. In the works of these writers there were similar moods of tragedy, separation from national roots, understood as an ontological catastrophe, motives of alienation, being thrown out of life in Russia and rejection in a foreign land, and other topics that we will further describe in more detail.
Regarding the definition of the "Parisian note", modern researchers of the Russian diaspora have the opinion that this literary phenomenon, undoubtedly existed and united a group of writers with a similar artistic worldview. But to recognize the concept of “Parisian note”, according to the researcher S. A. Shvabrin, “settled, generally recognized, is problematic. For example, G. Struve refused to single out such a trend in foreign literature in general, each time resorting to synonyms like "Paris circle", "young Parisian poets"" (Shvabrin, 1999, p. 36).
It is no coincidence that this emigrant "circle" was formed from the authors of the Parisian magazine "Numbers". The most significant publications of the first wave of emigration were the newspapers Latest News, Vozrozhdeniye, Obshchee Delo, Dni, Rossiya, Rossiya i Slavyanstvo, Novoye Vremya, as well as the journals Sovremennye Zapiski, Coming Russia”, “Russian Thought”. Many of them published on their pages the works of young emigrant writers, but for the most part they were guided by the work of writers of the older generation.
Artistic Reality as a Territory of "Emigrant" Meanings (Nabokov and the Writers of the "Parisian Note")
In order to outline the main features and methods of creating artistic reality by the younger generation of emigration, we consider it more productive to use not the entire layer of texts. Our observations in this chapter are based on a comparison of two prominent figures of the "young generation" - Boris Poplavsky and Vladimir Nabokov. A comparison of two different literary strategies, in our opinion, will make it possible to more accurately determine the generational characteristics of emigre texts of the 1920s and 1930s.
Nabokov's attitude towards the writers of the "Paris Note" was sharply critical. In turn, the "Monparnassians" reciprocated. G. Adamovich, G. Ivanov, K. Mochulsky denied the artist's skill in reviews of the work of today's great classic and considered his works an imitation of German and French models. The cult of simplicity of language, mystical understanding of many life processes, apocalyptic motives, fascination with religious and philosophical problems, in which the proximity of most writers of the “Parisian note” to the “Green Lamp” 3. N. Gippius and D. S. Merezhkovsky, were alien to Nabokov. Always standing, as it were, apart from all émigré writers' associations, Nabokov was sickened by the collectivist spirit of Montparnasse literature. “The common path, whatever it may be, is bad in the sense of art precisely because it is common”, - this is how Nabokov expressed his point of view on the search for “young” Parisian literature (Shvabrin, 1999, p. 38).
S. A. Shvabrin in the article “Controversy between Vladimir Nabokov and the writers of the “Paris Note”” notes: “Nabokov’s prose bore the indelible stamp of intense stylistic searches, revealed a desire to improve poetics, visual means of verbal creativity. The conscious rejection of formal brilliance by most writers of the Parisian note, the proclamation of the primacy of "human content" over any aesthetic experiments, could not but arouse polemical enthusiasm in Nabokov, the desire to defend his own views on the nature and purpose of art. Vladimir Nabokov's dispute with the "Parisian note" was basically a classic example of literary controversy, each time exposing the dialectic itself. literary process» (Shvabrin, 1999, p. 39).
However, the researcher does not consider the participants in this controversy to be absolute antagonists and makes an assumption that is of interest for our study: “Nabokov’s intuition of the transcendent, manifested in the author’s image of the “other world”, which marks the ideal hypostasis of being in his individual picture of the world, is the main theme of the artist’s work, which can (and should!) be compared with the mystical searches of his contemporaries. Doesn’t the assumption have the right to exist that would allow the researcher to proceed from the fact that the spiritual quest of the “young” Parisian literature and Nabokov’s “otherworldliness”, going back to a common source - the ideological principles of the art of the Russian Silver Age, differ in the choice of means, while remaining true not subject to any devaluation of the ideological dominant?!” (Shvabrin, 1999, p. 39).
In our opinion, this conclusion is undoubtedly correct. The appeal of both Nabokov and the “Parisians” to the “most important thing” in being was stylistically associated with a rethinking of the traditions of the Silver Age. The general desire to preserve the seemingly decaying principles of human existence, the inviolability of the very foundations of being (“to write about the most important”) is realized in the work of both Nabokov and the most talented representative of the “Paris school” Poplavsky. The commonality of the creative impulse is expressed in the prose of both writers in a special structure of the artistic world, namely, in the poetics of the "surreal". More in connection with the work of Poplavsky, it will be investigated by us later. The features of Nabokov's "unreal" chronotope are the focus of V. Alexandrov's study "Nabokov and the Otherworld" (Aleksandrov, 1999).
Thus, the prose of both writers is of interest for comparison from the point of view of revealing the poetics of the "unreal" in the artistic worlds of Nabokov and Poplavsky.
The constructions "hero", "character", "reader" are rethought in the literature of the beginning of the 20th century. Young emigre authors in their artistic searches followed the trends in the European novel - they mastered in their works those transformations that the understanding of the personality undergoes. The interwar years are a period of experiments with the understanding of the character, the author, the "I" in the work, with narrative optics, it is the ideas about a person that are at the center of those literary events that will later be called the "crisis of traditional storytelling". In the emigrant cultural community, all these themes are articulated. In reviews, surveys, essays, it is the “hero” that displaces the problems of “composition”, “plot”, “style”, “details” - all those “techniques” that emigre writers are not interested in talking about. "Hero more interesting than the novel”- the title of the unpublished book by Sergei Sharshun quite accurately characterizes the situation.
The hero is so closed in on his inner world that sometimes he does not even assume the presence of an “other” and cannot look at himself through the eyes of another. In the novel "Home from Heaven" the hero of Boris Poplavsky argues: "Who am I? Not "who", but "what. Where are my boundaries? They are not there, you know, in deep loneliness, on the other side of borrowed disguises, a person remains not with himself, but with nothing, not even with everyone. ... Following the disappearance of thousands of women and thousands of spectators, you yourself disappear, two empty mirrors cannot distinguish themselves from each other ... Where are you now?" (Poplavsky, 2000, p. 310). The problem of "I" and "other" is also relevant for Nabokov's work (the novel "Spy", the story "Horror", etc.).
The "inner" hero exists only in the space of his own consciousness, and he draws the sources of self-reflection from the author's memory. Critics-contemporaries saw in the novels of the "Chistsy" an autobiographical narrative. The boundary between the author and the hero is blurred.
The structure of the novel "Apollo Bezobrazov": the opposition of "reality" and "realities". Autocommunicative principle of text construction
As you know, Poplavsky became famous among the emigrants primarily as a lyricist. The writer then turned to epic kind literature to a large genre - the novel. In our opinion, the attraction not to small forms (short story, short story or story), but to the novel, is due to both Poplavsky's worldview and the historical and literary situation.
M. Bakhtin wrote that the novel is the only emerging and still "unfinished" genre. “The rest of the genres are like genres, that is, as some kind of solid molds for casting artistic experience,” the literary critic noted (Bakhtin, 1975, p. 447). And only the novel has no "canon". The novel comes into contact with the elements of the unfinished present, which does not allow this genre to freeze. The object of his artistic representation is "unprepared and fluid modernity." The plasticity of the novel is also due to the fact that it is “a genre that is forever searching, forever exploring itself and revising all its established forms” (Bakhtin, 1975, p. 482).
Artistic comprehension of being as eternally becoming, mutating is characteristic of all the work of Boris Poplavsky: In order to capture eternal change, art must be at the same time non-art, Poplavsky believed, whose creative guide was the “human document”. “Is it necessary to strive to “enter” literature, is it not necessary to rather want to “come out” of literature?” the writer asks in Notes on Poetry (Poplavsky, 19966, p. 251). And he answers: “You need to write something outside of literature. This achieves, creates not a work, but a poetic document - a feeling of a living fabric of lyrical experience that does not lend itself to the hands. There is not a static theme here, but a dynamic state, ... and therefore the display turns and changes, like a living fabric of time ”(Poplavsky, 1996, p. 251).
What Poplavsky wrote about poetry is also true for his prose. Researchers note lyricism in both novels of the writer. For example, V. Volsky in his work “Between Nietzsche and Poe” (Volsky, 20036) calls Poplavsky’s novels a great prose poem, where a certain “discreteness between internal and external, subjective and objective” is assumed.
From the lyrics, the writer's prose borrows an attitude towards subjectivity (the study of one's own, "home" is more important than objective reality), associativity. Poplavsky rhythmizes prose, and also introduces blank verse into novels. Particularly poetic is the chapter of Apollon Bezobrazov about the ball of Russian emigrants. One of the parts of this chapter is a dramatic episode built on the rhythmic remarks of the participants ("Voices from Music", "Vera", "Apollo Bezobrazov", "Sinners"). For example, Vera says: “Sounds are born in the world, the sun carries them into the abyss. Here, in a robe of dust, the music of death lives. Who will wake them up, who will destroy them. I will leave with them, I will die with them” (Poplavsky, 2000, p. 84).
The focus on fragmentation, associativity, subjectivity, external eventlessness is a general trend of the modernist novel of the 20th century, to which we include Poplavsky's novel. "Apollo Bezobrazov" is a modernist text, which reveals both the features of the European novel of the beginning of the century and the Russian symbolist novel.
In his article "About ...", partly devoted to the work of D. Joyce, Poplavsky contrasts the Irish writer with those classics who sought to "describe wonderful cases of life and all sorts of important events." Joyce, according to the writer, managed to touch the reality of being, to create "an intense sense of reality" (Poplavsky, 19966, p. 274), to discover "the majestic chaos of the human soul" (Poplavsky, 19966, p. 276). “All together,” Poplavsky writes about Ulysses, “creates an absolutely stunning document, something so real, so alive, so diverse and so truthful that it seems to us that if there was a need to send to Mars or even somewhere to hell on Easter cakes are the only example of terrestrial life or, after the destruction of European civilization, the only book to keep as a keepsake, in order to give an idea of it, lost through the centuries or space, it would be necessary, perhaps, to leave Joyce’s Ulysses” (Poplavsky, 19966, p. 274- 275).
Many works are devoted to the type literary hero modernism, but general opinion, basically, boils down to the fact that “he is deprived of stability and stability” (Stroev, 2002, p. 524). “Now the Europeans are thrown out of their biographies, like balls from billiard pockets,” wrote O. Mandelstam in his article “The End of the Novel” (1922). “The modern novel immediately lost its plot, that is, the personality acting in its own time, and psychology, since it no longer justifies any actions” (Mandelstam, 1990, p. 204). A.F. Stroev in his work “Hero - character - system of actors” writes that “the theory of relativity has taught us to think that the world is endless, incomprehensible and ambiguous. A person can judge not about objective reality, but only about his own perception of it. The rejection of positivism and of God equally destroyed the harmonious picture of the universe, deprived being of purpose. Freudianism showed the complex dual nature of human consciousness, the hidden irrational motivation of actions” (Stroev, 2002, p. 524).
N. Yu. Gryakalova, the author of the monograph "Modern Man: Biography - Reflection - Writing" (Gryakalova, 2008), considers the construct given in the title as a special cultural and anthropological type in the paradigm of its literary and life-creating realizations. The world of the modernist novel is devoid of integrity, rationality, orderliness, is constantly in the making, the hero of this space is, first of all, reflective. Poplavsky also had similar ideas about the world.
Modernism in the context of the first wave of Russian emigration undergoes certain modifications that only enhance some of the qualitative characteristics of this artistic method. For the émigré prose of the 1930s and the work of Boris Poplavsky, in our opinion, the construction of the text according to the autocommunicative principle is typical.
Yu. M. Lotman singles out in cultural space two directions of message transmission. The most typical case is the direction "I - OH", where "I" is the subject of information transfer and its owner, "HE" is the object, the addressee. In this communicative model, it is assumed that before the beginning of the communication act, a certain message is known to “me” and not known to “he”.
Another direction in the transfer of communication Lotman calls "I - I". In this model, the subject sends a message to itself. At the same time, the researcher is interested in the case when the system "I - I" performs not a mnemonic, but a different one. cultural function. These are all those cases when a person turns to himself, in particular, those diary entries that are made not for the purpose of remembering certain information, but to understand the internal state of the writer, an understanding that does not occur without a record.
Irrealization of the chronotope of Paris
In this chapter of the study, we will analyze the poetics of the "surreal" in Ioplavsky's novel "Apollo Bezobrazov", reveal its features and make an attempt to trace how the features of the "surreal" penetrate all the structural levels of the novel.
Of interest is the spatio-temporal structure of the first chapter of the novel "Apollo Bezobrazov". It sets the "coordinate system" in which the characters will continue to exist.
The chapter opens with an epigraph in French from Paul Eluard, one of Poplavsky's favorite writers: "Like a bird closed in its flight, it never touched the ground, never cast its shadow on it." In the statement, one can single out some space-time categories that are important for the first chapter and the entire novel, which form oppositions: “closure - openness”, “flight - fall”, “earth - sky”, “shadow - light”, the pronoun “never” in In this case, it can be equated in meaning with the word "always", that is, "eternally", and, thus, "eternal" is opposed to "temporary". In the sentence, the “above-ground” existence of the subject (“he”) is compared with the flight of a bird - and in this chapter the hero “I” (whose name, by the way, the reader will learn towards the end of the novel) will meet the same “mysterious”, “strange”, “ surreal" character, whose existence is marked by "isolation".
The story begins with a panoramic description of Paris, the city crowd, in which the reader will soon see the hero-narrator of the novel: "I".
In general, the "Parisian text" in the history of literature exists along with the "texts" of other cities and has a range of established ideas and associations. It should be noted that V. N. Toporov introduced the term "Petersburg text" and defined it as an artistic realization of the image of the city, and this definition can, by analogy, be extended to "Parisian", "Moscow", "London", "Dublin" and other texts ( see Toporov VN Myth Ritual Symbol Image: Research in the field of mythopoetic: Selected / VN Toporov - M.: Progress, 1995. - 624 p.).
"Text", in this case, we define, following B. Uspensky, as any "semantically organized sequence of signs" (Uspensky, 2000, p. 15). "Urban text" is also a sequence of signs, semantically organized by their belonging to a given phenomenon (city).
Researcher L. V. Syrovatko, by analogy with the “Petersburg story”, identifies a special genre variety “Paris novel” in the prose of the Russian abroad of the first wave and refers to it some works by V. Nabokov, G. Gazdanov, B. Poplavsky and others (Syrovatko, 2000 ). According to the literary critic, the main feature of the “Paris novel” is a special type of central character - this is a person “from the outskirts”, a marginal, a loner, a stranger in the metropolis, because he originally belonged to a completely different, more ancient and natural type of civilization (for example, Gazdanov and Nabokov - Russian estate). The cross-cutting motif of the “Parisian novel” is connected with this space that has disappeared forever - the metaphor of the “lost home”. Paris is perceived as a machine with gear people. L.V. Syrovatko notes: “There is no return to ancestral, natural life, and the outwardly festive world of the“ new civilization ”turns its reverse side to the hero ... It is no coincidence that when describing Paris ... both Gazdanov and Poplavsky emphasize clochards. "Wanderer", "traveler" in life, "outsider", "stranger" in the metropolis, biographically and metaphysically homeless, acutely aware of the inevitability of non-existence, the hero of the "Paris novel" tries to overcome the resulting emptiness by complicity in the approaching death of others, uniting him with other people , co-dying” (Syrovatko, 2000, p. 90-91). The features of the “Paris story” listed by L. V. Syrovatko correlate with the broader concept of the “Parisian text”.
However, not all researchers unequivocally assess the significance of the Parisian text for Russian writers in comparison with other urban texts. N. E. Mednis, noting the presence in the culture of St. Petersburg, Moscow, Roman, Florentine and other texts, believes that “certain internal intentions” are not enough for the “germination of the Parisian text” (Mednis, 1999, p. 132). At the same time, the literary critic admits that “some artists feel Paris precisely in terms of text” (Mednis, 1999, p. 146). N. E. Mednis finds an example of such a perception of the French capital in N. Berberova’s memoirs “My Cursive”. The attitude of the writer towards Paris contains “all the semiotic prerequisites for the formation of her own Parisian text, in which the city is able to realize the potential of otherness” (Mednis, 1999, p. 214). “Paris is not a city,” writes N. Berberova. - Paris is an image, a sign, a symbol of France, her today and her yesterday, an image of her history, her geography and her hidden essence. This city is saturated with meaning more than London, Madrid, Stockholm and Moscow, almost the same as St. Petersburg and Rome ... it speaks of the future, of the past, it is overloaded with overtones of the present, heavy, rich, dense aura of today. Whether we love it or hate it, we cannot avoid it. It is a circle of associations in which a person exists, being himself a circle of associations” (Berberova, 1999, p. 331).
For our research, it is of interest to Boris Poplavsky's transformation of the domestic and foreign literary tradition of the "Parisian text" and the creation of his own space of Paris - the "emigrant" topos.
Anton Kulikov is a free verse poet, translator and researcher of Boris Poplavsky's work. It was Anton who introduced me several years ago to the works of this wonderful poet, for which I am eternally grateful to him. I am pleased to publish on my blog one of Anton's works, dedicated to Poplavsky's novel "Apollo Bezobrazov". This material has never been published before.
Anton Kulikov: Features of the structure of the novel by B.Yu. Poplavsky "Apollo Bezobrazov"
In the epigraph to Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer, Ralph Emerson suggests that a special kind of autobiography will replace the traditional type of novel in the future. Implicitly, this thought turned out to be prophetic of the postmodern novel. The mythologizing of autobiography, as an important element in the creation of a prose work, turned out to be inseparable from the work of many innovative writers, from V. Nabokov to Ven. Erofeev. The principle of autobiography was widely used by beatniks (A. Ginsberg, J. Kerouac, W. Burroughs, R. Brautigan).
Deeply autobiographical is the novel "Apollo Bezobrazov", written by the famous Russian émigré writer B.Yu. Poplavsky. Written at the very end of the twenties of the twentieth century, it is a borderline work, located on
junction different cultures and artistic concepts. In addition to the principle of autobiography, the author uses the principle of fragmentation. The fragmentation of the work, as a central element of the poetics of the romantics, later turned into symbolism and surrealism. Poplavsky, whose favorite authors were both Lautreamont, idolized by the Surrealists, and Rimbaud, herald of the modern era, could not avoid their influence. Poplavsky's contemporary V.Vedle, in his review of the publication of the first chapters of the novel "Apollo the Unholy" in the journal "Numbers", wrote: "The new chapters of the science fiction novel "Apollo the Unholy" are inspired in part by Edgar Allan Poe's Arthur Gordon Pym, but this does not mean that they are imitative , and the main teacher of Poplavsky remains not Poe, but Rimbaud. Indeed, the first chapter of the novel is reminiscent of Arthur Rimbaud's prose poems from Illuminations or One Summer in Hell. The narrative unfolds according to the principle of cinema - the frame is replaced by a frame, causing hallucinogenically vivid and vivid images.
The influence of surrealism on the prose of B. Poplavsky is also obvious. The leader of the movement, André Breton, with whom Poplavsky was personally acquainted, declared: “Imagination is that which tends to become reality.” It is this imagination that is Poplavsky's demiurgical ideal, which he follows all his life. Painful states leading to insights, and dream revelations professed by surrealists, are characteristic both for Poplavsky's life and for his work. The characters of the novel often arrive in a state of sleep, daydreaming, or illness. “Then I fell asleep and had dreams. In general, we all slept a lot, and often until sunset the house was immersed in sleep. What happens to them in a dream is more important than reality. Dream and reality change places. Dreams and memories are intertwined, giving rise to a painful, and at the same time, an attractive image of divine truth. “I fall into some golden wells full of clouds, and for a long time, maybe millions of years, I fly in them, lower and lower, to other worlds, to other times…”. Such a "medium recording of a romantic visionary", as Y. Ivasco aptly remarked, is very in tune with the poetic searches of the surrealists. And it's not about automatic writing, although Poplavsky himself prepared for publication a book of poems "Automatic Poems", which was published many years after his death. The point is to understand verbal creativity as a supernatural, sacred act leading to the emancipation and liberation of the human essence, in faith in the magical ability of the word to transform the world.
Analyzing the structure of the novel "Apollo Bezobrazov", it is difficult to get rid of the reader's impression that the narrative "escapes", the plot is ephemeral, and there is no intrigue at all. Some of the writer's contemporaries blamed him for technical shortcomings and stylistic blunders. But what in 1930 might have been perceived as a shortcoming later became part of the concepts of both the “new” and the postmodern novel. The author does not set out to display the spiritual world of the characters through actions and psychologically accurately depict their portraits. The image of the hero-narrator is rather collective, he personifies a creative person humiliated in emigration. It is no coincidence that the hero throughout the novel constantly identifies himself with others, he is, as it were, deprived of his own being, dissolving in collective being, in pity, in compassion, in admiration: “My soul was looking for someone’s presence, which would finally free me from shame, from hope, from fear, and the soul found him. Thus, the heroes of the novel can be regarded as the spiritual incarnations of the author, and the novel itself can be regarded as a metaphorical canvas of his spiritual quest and evolution. At the beginning of the first chapter, the protagonist appears as a pure contemplator of the surrounding life, as a shadow of himself. This was obviously influenced by the reality of the shameful emigrant existence, which was directly familiar to the author. On a metaphorical level, the story of
the isolation of the inner world, which has not found its dialectical balance, the necessary antipode. This antipode appears with the appearance on the stage of Apollon Bezobrazov, in the first edition of the novel, it was not by chance that he was called the devil. Here aesthetic and philosophical views Poplavsky, who considers art as a spiritual document. The content of this document is a painful and long search for God. Acquainted with many philosophical systems, having survived immersion in Christian and Buddhist metaphysics, Poplavsky remained a religious eclecticist of the theosophical persuasion. At the narrative level, the meeting of the hero-narrator with Apollon Bezobrazov is the plot, as well as the nuclear center of the first storyline, which is represented by the "Parisian" chapters of the novel, and which merges with the second. From the position of composition, this technique is very traditional, but in Poplavsky's work it is not essential for the work, it does not perform an architectonic function, but is conventionally decorative, even parodic. In general, the element of parody is obvious, which conceptually places the novel within the framework of postmodernist discourse. For example, the fifth and sixth chapters, representing the second storyline, are a parody of the novel of education by J.-J. Rousseau. The composition of the novel is outwardly devoid of intrigue, which is carried out on a symbolic level, as a struggle between mental states and types of worldview. The novel mixes such genres as a prose poem, diary entries and a theological treatise. The combination of literary genres in the text of the novel (drama and epic), characteristic of J. Joyce's "Ulysses", is used by Poplavsky in "Apollo Bezobrazov". The culmination of the novel can be considered an episode in which Bezobrazov, a soulless stoic and sophist, pushes the former priest Robert, who has lost faith in the truth of the Christian revelation, off the cliff. Before his death, Robert calls Bezobrazov the devil. This episode, in turn, is undoubtedly full of reminiscences from the works of F. Nietzsche.
