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Vladimir Spector: "literature - the reflection of the state of the soul of society, its level of development"
< Anatoly Golubovskii
Vladimir Spektor. Publicist. Poet. Not for the sake of, and as of the soul. The author of two dozen books. Winner of half a dozen literary prizes. Co-Chairman of the Board of the Interregional Union of Writers and co-chair the Congress of Ukrainian writers and much more. And a sincere person. We met with him after the interview, which took place in our Lesha Kurilko. Vladimir enjoyed our conversation and he published it on the website, "his version". They began to chat online. And then he offered to make a mutual interview. Also online.
-Vladimir, your youth has fallen to a desperate dispute physicists lyrics. What is your poetry? . It is impossible not to write, want to share, something else, or at all, in your opinion, inexplicable
vs. .: A friend of mine kept asking: "Well, give your poems for the pocket?" After my next answer: "No - Th-th" - stopped to ask, but now looking like an idiot. I worked long enough in the office of thermal and aerodynamic calculations, where loved precision in everything, including in terms of thought, so that's where my colleague put it more clearly: "Poetry brings economic benefit equal to zero." It is true. But there is something that is not calculated in money. First of all, it is - the desire to express, very honestly and sincerely express their thoughts and feelings, your opinion. And, if possible, as it belongs only to you. This gives a very great moral effect. In some ways it is more valuable than money. Perhaps this is because, otherwise so many people (their number is not reduced at all times, but only increases) would not engage in such seemingly futile exercise, as the search for rhymes and rhythm compliance when writing his revelations. But in the brain appears the first line, it gradually attracts others. And then it goes on nagging miracle. Remember in Shpalikov: "... and they grow - out of nothing, out of nowhere. There is no explanation in the miracle. And I is not a whale. " That's for sure. A manifest of all in their own way, and not immediately. The birth of each poem - the time of the ordinances associated with the maximum voltage forces and capabilities. And it happens or not - understanding comes later.
-Can say when (or approximately accurate) you wrote the first verse?
-V.S .: I rhymed lines I began at school, and this was preceded by the reading binge, which has become the most important passion of life. Early childhood I spent in the care of his grandfather, and the reading of children's books in his performance was constant and favorite entertainment. Repeated listening to folk tales, poems Barto, Marshak, Chukovsky and Mikhalkov and "The Adventures of Dunno" Nosov (beautifully designed books in the Ukrainian language), and even a grandfather's life's comments became for me a kind of children's university, and since love for books, reading - is unchanged. Perhaps because of these books, and it can all somehow ordained by God, but from childhood I wanted to be not military, not an astronaut (oh, it was fashionable in the 60s), not a geologist, as a writer, or ( as a concession to reality) - a journalist. The old writers did not, although the uncle, the brother of my mother, after graduating from high school wrote an entire novel titled "Classmates" and sent it to assess Boris Gorbatov. But assessment quashed the war, was buried, and his uncle, who after the Pedagogical School went to the front, and his story.
At the age of six he began to read "adult" books from those that were at the parents' bookcase. I remember the "flag on the tower," Makarenko "Old Fortress" Belyaev, "Lone White Sail" and "Son of the regiment" Kataev, "Mysterious Island" and "Children of Captain Grant" by Jules Verne (re-read several times with delight). In the second class I asked, "Young Guard" in the school library. Zinaida Yakovlevna Librarian said: "You still early to read these books." To which I replied. "It's for Dad" She asked again doubtfully: "What dad does not read Fadeyev?" "I've read, of course - I was assured - just wants more time to re-read." Lies my revealed very quickly - the librarian asked my mother: "How is it, they say, a spouse? Following the "Young Guard"? But I was not punished, and the book read very quickly. The impression of it was great. That is left for life.
-like usually attracted to like. Who were your friends / childhood friend?
vs. .: Some years we were sitting at the same desk with Igor Semenenko, who in adult life was a wonderful neurologist and could - a talented writer, a journalist or an artist. Igor's mother taught Russian literature and love for her son passed, which, moreover, easily and gracefully rhymed lines, hitting me this art. Sometimes, his mom, checking notebooks, showed us the most terrible mistakes. I remembered in one word essay "maladёsh". At first I did not understand what it is. And then read the whole sentence - "For Peace, sovetskaya maladёsh!" The six errors in a nutshell. As we would say today, "Wow!" A weak excuse was just that the author studied at night school.
Slowly rhyming process fascinated me, and we began to compose together a poetic epic school. All are recorded in a special notebook that I kept. Brad, of course, wrote the full.
Are you Delhi written in the yard / school and how this was the attitude (if sharing)
vs. .: something written from Igor and school friends have shown that, in general, appreciated by our indifference nemudrёnye epics. But on February 23 girls class gave me a card, which is stored to this day. For it is written: "Volodya, we wish that your poems are pleased and excited the hearts of readers and fans." And then ...
In the middle of the tenth grade, I wrote what I thought was quite a decent poem about the evening city, rain and mental anguish and showed his favorite teacher of literature Alexei Mikhailovich. He read it, put his arm around my shoulders and said the unexpected at the time the phrase: "You, Volodya, do not write poetry. You write fiction. " I was blown away by this. But hunting compose rhymed texts really disappeared. Permanently. Ahead was the Engineering Institute, tractor factory, the army ... Only there everyday prose army and reading classic verse in the regimental library contributed to the resuscitation of the poetic interpretation of reality. So, the advice was wise and just. However, the prose of those years, I also did not write. But I read - pretty
whatever measure you measure everything that came to pass and did not come true,
. Gains and losses, fate, pierced through
The desire for happiness and freedom, love and good cognition? ..
Oh God, behind his back - the years, and from the "Today" to "yesterday",
How paycheck to reckoning - Moments honest pennies
. Instantly embraced the thrill, soak the fabric of my soul.
And it - inherited a sketch of my way ...
The goal does not justify the means, but it helps them to find.
< -School behind. What influenced your choice of college?
vs. .: I graduated from the Faculty of Transport Engineering Institute with a degree in "Internal Combustion Engines". A dream of the Faculty of Journalism. Incidentally, the degree of completion of the Public University of the faculty, I still got it. But it was little consolation. And why he has appeared in a technical college? From pragmatism and because of the eternal self-doubt. And mathematics at school was the second after the Russian literature, a favorite subject. Yes and parental advice: "Hold on a factory pipe" is also not without significance. No one believed in my literary ability, which at that time nothing serious is not confirmed. And I knew that with my modest in all respects and biographical points starting opportunities, for me, to some extent open only the most democratic at the time (but also complicated, which required knowledge and weight routine daily work for the implementation of tasks and course projects ) Engineering Institute. However, I do not regret that knew the wisdom of technical mechanics, strength of materials, machine parts and thermodynamics. All this disciplined thinking ability, contributed to raising the analytical approach to understanding current events. In addition, write, read, and improve their skills no one is prohibited.
I was lucky in the army (read - and very funny). But, nevertheless, the regiment was a wonderful library, as they say, "not plundered", where dense rows were books of literary (including poetic) classics in the neighborhood housed the works of contemporary authors, and pleasing to the eye, almost all thick magazines . In addition, the reading was encouraged! I have read more than our entire company, that's for sure. The poets of Pushkin's circle, the Silver Age, the revolutionary romance - all this has found fertile ground in my soul.
But ahead there were 23 years of work in the factory where I worked thermodynamic and hydraulic calculations of locomotive system and for many years before the first book. Poetry and prose of life marched side by side, in some way helping each other, but something disturbing ... Not
Isabella without nutmeg, whose bunch - Selection
joy. A simple - wild grapes, well-kept garden
outcast. It grows, without shame, and pouring the juice of tart,
Threaded stretches where the sky is pure and highly
When did feel like a pro (if you have felt - here is purely private and not-to-one, you know).
vs. .: «I am a poet, zovusya Svetik, from me to all of you greeting" - this children's rhymes always remember when someone uttered in my presence: "I, as a poet, I can say ..." not provided such employment records, "poet" or "writer". Even for members of the Union of Writers. Path to Professional Writers Union was truly arduous for me. He and a literary association named Sosyury, friendship with the writer Nikolai Malahutoy, literary critic Viktor Filimonov and unforgettable Peter Shevchenko. It was not only a good journalist and a good friend, but also a great poet, whose death - in my opinion, a tragedy for the Ukrainian literature. Communicating with these people gave me, probably more than the Literary Institute, where I was at the time not taken. And I corresponded with David Samoilov, Michael Matusovskiy, Vadim Shefner. It was a miracle that they responded to my emails, assessed the verses were sent. After all, I was for them - a man in the street. By the way, I wrote at the time and two poets of Kiev, who, learning that I work in a factory, condescendingly praised me for the initiative and advised to pay more attention to the development of teplovozostroeniya. Like, everyone - his own.
In 1989 he came to Lugansk Yevgeny Yevtushenko. He then supported Yury Shchekochikhin, who ran from our town to the Supreme Soviet of the USSR. After stunning the meeting with readers, which was held in the form of a concert, I was probably two hours stood at the entrance of the Palace of Culture in anticipation of the master. Finally he appeared, and I presented, handed him a folder with poems. He took the folder, but nothing has been promised. And two months later to address the regional organization of the Union of writers came his letter with the good reviews and wish success. And it was also a miracle.
My first book was ready for publication in 1981. More. But then there was too much against me - and non-partisanship, and nationality, and engineering. In general, the response from the publishing house "Donbass" came negative. I remember, I showed him a famous writer Vladislav Titov, who said: "It's not fair, and I'll try to help you." But, literally, he died suddenly in the next week. And there was no one to help already. There was a time when I stopped writing poems. Seriously engaged in hydraulics and heating equipment, it has become a leading designer. But still, literature remained the meaning of life. In the late 80's my book, which was called "old debt", it was favorably received by the publishing house "Donbass", and after a long ordeal with the printing press, finally came out. It is difficult to convey my happiness. It was, as they say, the moment of truth. Incidentally, while I helped the party secretary of the factory, which is called the printing press and asked to promote the publication of the book. Everywhere and always there are good people and bad, those who are helping you, and those who do bad things. This is known more from the Bible, but is learned in their own skin.
The ensuing thereafter attempt to join the Writers' Union, which has already become then "Spilka pysmennykiv" was foiled requirement to publish a second book. But with the advent of its chances to become an officially recognized "myttsom words" were zero. The capital's literary officials have done everything, to be created for at least one writer's union more democratic and open. And it created. In 1993 Oleg unforgettable Bishara, Alexander Dovban, together with friends after a trip to Moscow to Sergei Mikhalkov, Yuri Bondarev, Rasul Gamzatov managed to organize Interregional Union of Writers with the center in Lugansk. As the membership cards were given booklets with red lettering "Writers 'Union of the USSR" signed by the chairman of the executive committee of the International Community of Writers' Unions Timur Pulatov.
I will always remember how Oleg Bishara, he saw me at the other end of the street, I ran up and said, "enough to wait for the results of the selection committee in Kiev. Come to us. We will take you without any fees. You - a real poet. " Oleg was a straightforward man, sometimes sharp, able to say in the face of the author - mediocrity. He praised very rare, and this is his invitation was very expensive for me. The ticket does not become an automatic confirmation of professionalism, but belong to the writers' fraternity marked. I am proud of them so far.
Apples-wildings fly, fly ... are falling on the grass.
Life - it is also an orchard. In dreams or waking
Some blooms and gives fruit even in a dry year ...
Apple-wildings are not waiting for the water - just growing, growing
-Can be called the most significant success (personal / professional)
VS.?. At the root of envy, and the tongue is longer than that of the steppe weed. Accustomed to success you have, or not used to - but certainly familiar with envy. She'll prick pobolney. After all, she knows everything, always, about all ... And yet, if she likes you, it means you have found success!
Whence comes the anger? Out of jealousy or enmity, as the ice - water from a transparent, both from the boot - a nail. Clings sin for sin, and two of them even cold ... Anger medicine - success. Why did he come to the evil
-Your biggest disappointment (private / professional)
vs. Inter, as if singing a song. Inter and others, and their own, forgetting that here and there is only one shared moment. Sale gloating and flattery, gossip stained strange clothes ... not in favor with the honor of selling. That's all. The rest - lie
not to notice, not to suffer problems, not repeat -. "Country wine war" and speak the "black" - "whitish", looking silently out of the window. Do not stand even
in a dirty mess, to be on the side - not on the runway, to justify any obscurantism. And to be like everyone else, like everyone else, like all
Do you forgive -Umeete
vs.
Unfinished peace, love, change, inescapable, but not doomed.
I Forget, forgive rising from its knees, their anger drawing on infatuation.
Clouds from the soul soar to where they go, the sky hiding,
Where, being born, the hope beckons star, gaining completeness of paradise ...
all that hate - forgive. I look at close range - not to notice. And I see how the grass grows. Her, too - stomp, stomp, it grows back, not complain, growing as if singing. Sings to his heels evil, under the indifferent spitting. Above it - the sky live shine. И, ненавидеть не умея, растёт, беспечно зеленея, растёт — то песней, то травой.
Стараюсь не делать зла. И не обижаться на зло. А спросят: «Ну, как дела?» — Жизнь моё ремесло – отвечу, и буду впредь жить, избегая обид. Хотя и непросто терпеть. Хотя и сердце болит.
-Важно ли для этноса иметь собственных сильных литераторов или это в силу возрастающей космополитичности мирового сообщества уже не имеет значения?
В.С.: Честно говоря, никогда об этом не задумывался. И, всё же, литература – отражение состояния души общества, уровня его развития, его взглядов и мыслей. Важно, чтобы это отражение было на родном языке. Хотя переводы иностранных книг отражают всё то же самое, но не столь близкое и животрепещущее. Но нужны ли обществу сильные литераторы? Популярны ли они? Кого знает «массовый читатель»? Не зря ведь в опросах лидируют классики. И если рядом с лидерами – авторы детективных романов, значит ли, что это – самое важное и востребованное явление современной литературы?
«Всенародно известными стать не дано современным поэтам. Их слова вылетают, как птицы в окно, и — без ответа. Маломощны их книги, как Даймлер и Бенц в самом начале, и, к тому же, утерян терновый венец. Вы не встречали?» Во все времена любителей поэзии было не больше одного процента от всего населения страны, земли… Хотя бывали взлёты популярности, как в середине прошлого века в СССР, когда выступления поэтов собирали стадионы, когда Евтушенко, Вознесенский, Ахмадуллина, Рождественский, Окуджава – были рупором поколения «оттепели». Их фамилии были как пароль, книги их раскупались мгновенно. Читать и обсуждать их было модно. Правда, рядом с ними жили и писали Самойлов и Межиров, Тарковский и Левитанский, Слуцкий, Соколов, Винокуров, Бродский, Костров, Рейн… Можно назвать ещё десятки фамилий замечательных поэтов, которые тоже определяли уровень поэзии, были большими мастерами, но не столь знаменитыми, как их более молодые коллеги. Хотя, всё расставляет по местам время. А прижизненная слава поэта зачастую не имеет никакого отношения к поэзии.
Вот сегодня, кого можно назвать знаменитым, известным поэтом, хоть в России, хоть в Украине? Я, конечно, могу озвучить несколько десятков фамилий, но я-то интересуюсь этим профессионально, да и то знаю лишь часть авторов, стихи которых удалось прочитать в журналах, альманахах, книгах. Говорят, в Москве поэтический бум, называются имена Веры Павловой, Шиша Брянского (!?), Всеволода Емелина, Андрея Родионова…
«Такой оргазм! Аж слезы брызнули…» «И слово «х...» на стенке лифта /Перечитала восемь раз». «… Раскован солнцем зимний плен, / Задули вешние пассаты. / Не хочешь ли, мой друг, поссати / На флорентийский гобелен?» «… Так хорошо во время бизнес-ланча /Сидеть в арт-кафе с бабою. / И актуальным людям махать / Открытою ладонью. / А потом вечером забухать / Во дворе с подзаборной хронью».
Это цитаты из творчества этих авторов. Как говорит мой друг поэт Василий Дунин, такие стихи можно писать километрами. Мне вспоминаются другие фамилии – Геннадия Красникова, Владимира Урусова, Петра Кошеля, Нины Красновой – их первые книги вышли перед распадом СССР, тираж позволял купить их и в Москве, и в Луганске. Это отличные поэты, но их более поздних книг я уже не видел. В книжных магазинах продаётся совсем другое. Да и тиражи поэтических книг не превышают 500 экземпляров. Чаще – 100-200. И знают их только друзья и родственники.
Олег Чухонцев, Юрий Кублановский, Александр Кушнер, Лариса Миллер, Олеся Николаева… Их стихи тоже были с восторгом прочитаны достаточно давно, новые произведения узнаю из интернета. Да и в Украине количество пишущих стихи постепенно приближается к количеству их читающих. И тоже есть изумительные авторы, и среди украинских поэтов, и среди русских. Лина Костенко, Борис Олейник, Леонид Череватенко, Микола Малахута, Василий Голобородько, Юрий Кириченко, Тамара Севернюк…
Владимир Каденко, Андрей Грязов, Елизавета Хапланова, Виктор Мостовой, Василь Дробот, Наталия Мавроди, Елена Буевич, Сергей Кривонос, Татьяна Литвинова, Иван Нечипорук, Иван Волосюк, Ирина Горбань, Олег Фёдоров, Светлана Скорик, Виктор Шендрик, Людмила Черкашина, Инна Ковалева, Александр Корж, Марина Матвеева, Леонид Борозенцев, Лада Федоровская, Леонард Тушинский, Юрий Лебедь, Елена Заславская, Алексей Торхов, Сергей Дунев, Елена Руни, Геннадий Сусуев, Вячеслав Пасенюк, Наталья Вареник, Василий Дунин, Валерий Сурненко, Ирина Гирлянова…
Это только те, чьи фамилии пришли сразу на ум, а вообще могу назвать по памяти ещё десятки очень хороших авторов. Но известны ли они «широкому» читателю? Hardly. Чтобы стать популярным сегодня, нужно писать тексты для песен, да ещё чтобы их крутили круглые сутки радиостанции и телешоу. Кирей, Трофим, Потап. «Водил меня Серёга на выставку Ван Гога». Это тоже поэзия. Популярная. В общем, каждый выбирает для себя…
Странно, что на телевидении, практически, нет места разговору о литературе. Говорят, это вне «формата». Интересно, кто выдумал это понятие. И что входит в понятие «формат»? Бесчисленные «поющие трусы», стремительно теряющие остроумие КВНщики, дикие юмористы, давно забывшие, что такое юмор, бесконечные сериалы, похожие друг на друга, как необученные солдаты в учебке. А ещё – массовые полузвёздные дуэты и матерные шутки из клуба, который почему-то называют комедийным… Может быть, действительно нас всех хотят сделать героями сериала типа «Тупой, ещё тупее». Впрочем, смотреть всё это никто не заставляет. А книги издаются разные, в том числе, и очень интересные. И, учитывая пока ещё всеобщую грамотность, люди имеют возможность читать умные и серьёзные произведения. А писатели – рассчитывать, что их творчество найдёт отклик в сердцах читателей и принесёт удовлетворение не только моральное, но и материальное. Хотя, за такие мысли меня, наверное, можно смело причислять к отряду писателей-фантастов.
Всё это нужно пережить, перетерпеть и переждать.
Суровой оказалась нить и толстой — общая тетрадь
Судьбы, которая и шьёт, и пишет — только наугад.
Я понимаю — всё пройдёт. Но дни — летят, летят, летят…
-Можно ли сейчас назвать литераторов нервной системой нации, индикатором ее здоровья или это изолированно существующие либо редко пересекающиеся плоскости сообщества?
В.С.: Если это нервная система, то организм серьёзно болен. Ибо братья-писатели, с лёгкостью призывающие убивать себе подобных, воспевающие жестокость, насилие, мстительность, нетерпимость к инакомыслию и жителям соседних регионов — это ненормально. Литература – прежде всего, милосердие, сочувствие, сопереживание, стремление разобраться, понять, проанализировать… Многие литераторы вдруг ощутили себя, прежде всего, пропагандистами, для которых важна не истина, а рамки дозволенного. Это уже было в проклинаемом ими «совке». И теперь, проклиная, они творят то же самое, только в другой системе координат. Strange. Литература – занятие совестливое, и если она перестаёт такой быть, это очень заметно.
Добро опять проигрывает матч. Счёт минимальный ничего не значит.
Закономерность новых неудач почти равна случайности удачи,
Чья вероятность близится к нулю, как вероятность гола без штрафного.
Добро, проигрывая, шепчет: «Я люблю», и, побеждая, шепчет то же слово…
— Ваше пожелание читателям
В.С.: Девиз нашей жизни в последнее время «Невзирая ни на что», поэтому желаю вопреки всему добиваться успеха, максимальной самореализации, не унывать, быть здоровыми и счастливыми. Хороший плакат висит на входе в библиотеку: «Читать – модно и престижно». Желаю читать хорошие книги. Писать их. Получать от этого удовольствие.
И, в самом деле, всё могло быть хуже. – мы живы, невзирая на эпоху.
И даже голубь, словно ангел, кружит, как будто подтверждая: «Всё – не плохо».
Хотя судьба ведёт свой счёт потерям, где голубь предстаёт воздушным змеем…
В то, что могло быть хуже – твёрдо верю. А в лучшее мне верится труднее.
Vladimir Spektor. Publicist. Poet. Not for the sake of, and as of the soul. The author of two dozen books. Winner of half a dozen literary prizes. Co-Chairman of the Board of the Interregional Union of Writers and co-chair the Congress of Ukrainian writers and much more. And a sincere person. We met with him after the interview, which took place in our Lesha Kurilko. Vladimir enjoyed our conversation and he published it on the website, "his version". They began to chat online. And then he offered to make a mutual interview. Also online.
-Vladimir, your youth has fallen to a desperate dispute physicists lyrics. What is your poetry? . It is impossible not to write, want to share, something else, or at all, in your opinion, inexplicable
vs. .: A friend of mine kept asking: "Well, give your poems for the pocket?" After my next answer: "No - Th-th" - stopped to ask, but now looking like an idiot. I worked long enough in the office of thermal and aerodynamic calculations, where loved precision in everything, including in terms of thought, so that's where my colleague put it more clearly: "Poetry brings economic benefit equal to zero." It is true. But there is something that is not calculated in money. First of all, it is - the desire to express, very honestly and sincerely express their thoughts and feelings, your opinion. And, if possible, as it belongs only to you. This gives a very great moral effect. In some ways it is more valuable than money. Perhaps this is because, otherwise so many people (their number is not reduced at all times, but only increases) would not engage in such seemingly futile exercise, as the search for rhymes and rhythm compliance when writing his revelations. But in the brain appears the first line, it gradually attracts others. And then it goes on nagging miracle. Remember in Shpalikov: "... and they grow - out of nothing, out of nowhere. There is no explanation in the miracle. And I is not a whale. " That's for sure. A manifest of all in their own way, and not immediately. The birth of each poem - the time of the ordinances associated with the maximum voltage forces and capabilities. And it happens or not - understanding comes later.
-Can say when (or approximately accurate) you wrote the first verse?
-V.S .: I rhymed lines I began at school, and this was preceded by the reading binge, which has become the most important passion of life. Early childhood I spent in the care of his grandfather, and the reading of children's books in his performance was constant and favorite entertainment. Repeated listening to folk tales, poems Barto, Marshak, Chukovsky and Mikhalkov and "The Adventures of Dunno" Nosov (beautifully designed books in the Ukrainian language), and even a grandfather's life's comments became for me a kind of children's university, and since love for books, reading - is unchanged. Perhaps because of these books, and it can all somehow ordained by God, but from childhood I wanted to be not military, not an astronaut (oh, it was fashionable in the 60s), not a geologist, as a writer, or ( as a concession to reality) - a journalist. The old writers did not, although the uncle, the brother of my mother, after graduating from high school wrote an entire novel titled "Classmates" and sent it to assess Boris Gorbatov. But assessment quashed the war, was buried, and his uncle, who after the Pedagogical School went to the front, and his story.
At the age of six he began to read "adult" books from those that were at the parents' bookcase. I remember the "flag on the tower," Makarenko "Old Fortress" Belyaev, "Lone White Sail" and "Son of the regiment" Kataev, "Mysterious Island" and "Children of Captain Grant" by Jules Verne (re-read several times with delight). In the second class I asked, "Young Guard" in the school library. Zinaida Yakovlevna Librarian said: "You still early to read these books." To which I replied. "It's for Dad" She asked again doubtfully: "What dad does not read Fadeyev?" "I've read, of course - I was assured - just wants more time to re-read." Lies my revealed very quickly - the librarian asked my mother: "How is it, they say, a spouse? Following the "Young Guard"? But I was not punished, and the book read very quickly. The impression of it was great. That is left for life.
-like usually attracted to like. Who were your friends / childhood friend?
vs. .: Some years we were sitting at the same desk with Igor Semenenko, who in adult life was a wonderful neurologist and could - a talented writer, a journalist or an artist. Igor's mother taught Russian literature and love for her son passed, which, moreover, easily and gracefully rhymed lines, hitting me this art. Sometimes, his mom, checking notebooks, showed us the most terrible mistakes. I remembered in one word essay "maladёsh". At first I did not understand what it is. And then read the whole sentence - "For Peace, sovetskaya maladёsh!" The six errors in a nutshell. As we would say today, "Wow!" A weak excuse was just that the author studied at night school.
Slowly rhyming process fascinated me, and we began to compose together a poetic epic school. All are recorded in a special notebook that I kept. Brad, of course, wrote the full.
Are you Delhi written in the yard / school and how this was the attitude (if sharing)
vs. .: something written from Igor and school friends have shown that, in general, appreciated by our indifference nemudrёnye epics. But on February 23 girls class gave me a card, which is stored to this day. For it is written: "Volodya, we wish that your poems are pleased and excited the hearts of readers and fans." And then ...
In the middle of the tenth grade, I wrote what I thought was quite a decent poem about the evening city, rain and mental anguish and showed his favorite teacher of literature Alexei Mikhailovich. He read it, put his arm around my shoulders and said the unexpected at the time the phrase: "You, Volodya, do not write poetry. You write fiction. " I was blown away by this. But hunting compose rhymed texts really disappeared. Permanently. Ahead was the Engineering Institute, tractor factory, the army ... Only there everyday prose army and reading classic verse in the regimental library contributed to the resuscitation of the poetic interpretation of reality. So, the advice was wise and just. However, the prose of those years, I also did not write. But I read - pretty
whatever measure you measure everything that came to pass and did not come true,
. Gains and losses, fate, pierced through
The desire for happiness and freedom, love and good cognition? ..
Oh God, behind his back - the years, and from the "Today" to "yesterday",
How paycheck to reckoning - Moments honest pennies
. Instantly embraced the thrill, soak the fabric of my soul.
And it - inherited a sketch of my way ...
The goal does not justify the means, but it helps them to find.
< -School behind. What influenced your choice of college?
vs. .: I graduated from the Faculty of Transport Engineering Institute with a degree in "Internal Combustion Engines". A dream of the Faculty of Journalism. Incidentally, the degree of completion of the Public University of the faculty, I still got it. But it was little consolation. And why he has appeared in a technical college? From pragmatism and because of the eternal self-doubt. And mathematics at school was the second after the Russian literature, a favorite subject. Yes and parental advice: "Hold on a factory pipe" is also not without significance. No one believed in my literary ability, which at that time nothing serious is not confirmed. And I knew that with my modest in all respects and biographical points starting opportunities, for me, to some extent open only the most democratic at the time (but also complicated, which required knowledge and weight routine daily work for the implementation of tasks and course projects ) Engineering Institute. However, I do not regret that knew the wisdom of technical mechanics, strength of materials, machine parts and thermodynamics. All this disciplined thinking ability, contributed to raising the analytical approach to understanding current events. In addition, write, read, and improve their skills no one is prohibited.
I was lucky in the army (read - and very funny). But, nevertheless, the regiment was a wonderful library, as they say, "not plundered", where dense rows were books of literary (including poetic) classics in the neighborhood housed the works of contemporary authors, and pleasing to the eye, almost all thick magazines . In addition, the reading was encouraged! I have read more than our entire company, that's for sure. The poets of Pushkin's circle, the Silver Age, the revolutionary romance - all this has found fertile ground in my soul.
But ahead there were 23 years of work in the factory where I worked thermodynamic and hydraulic calculations of locomotive system and for many years before the first book. Poetry and prose of life marched side by side, in some way helping each other, but something disturbing ... Not
Isabella without nutmeg, whose bunch - Selection
joy. A simple - wild grapes, well-kept garden
outcast. It grows, without shame, and pouring the juice of tart,
Threaded stretches where the sky is pure and highly
When did feel like a pro (if you have felt - here is purely private and not-to-one, you know).
vs. .: «I am a poet, zovusya Svetik, from me to all of you greeting" - this children's rhymes always remember when someone uttered in my presence: "I, as a poet, I can say ..." not provided such employment records, "poet" or "writer". Even for members of the Union of Writers. Path to Professional Writers Union was truly arduous for me. He and a literary association named Sosyury, friendship with the writer Nikolai Malahutoy, literary critic Viktor Filimonov and unforgettable Peter Shevchenko. It was not only a good journalist and a good friend, but also a great poet, whose death - in my opinion, a tragedy for the Ukrainian literature. Communicating with these people gave me, probably more than the Literary Institute, where I was at the time not taken. And I corresponded with David Samoilov, Michael Matusovskiy, Vadim Shefner. It was a miracle that they responded to my emails, assessed the verses were sent. After all, I was for them - a man in the street. By the way, I wrote at the time and two poets of Kiev, who, learning that I work in a factory, condescendingly praised me for the initiative and advised to pay more attention to the development of teplovozostroeniya. Like, everyone - his own.
In 1989 he came to Lugansk Yevgeny Yevtushenko. He then supported Yury Shchekochikhin, who ran from our town to the Supreme Soviet of the USSR. After stunning the meeting with readers, which was held in the form of a concert, I was probably two hours stood at the entrance of the Palace of Culture in anticipation of the master. Finally he appeared, and I presented, handed him a folder with poems. He took the folder, but nothing has been promised. And two months later to address the regional organization of the Union of writers came his letter with the good reviews and wish success. And it was also a miracle.
My first book was ready for publication in 1981. More. But then there was too much against me - and non-partisanship, and nationality, and engineering. In general, the response from the publishing house "Donbass" came negative. I remember, I showed him a famous writer Vladislav Titov, who said: "It's not fair, and I'll try to help you." But, literally, he died suddenly in the next week. And there was no one to help already. There was a time when I stopped writing poems. Seriously engaged in hydraulics and heating equipment, it has become a leading designer. But still, literature remained the meaning of life. In the late 80's my book, which was called "old debt", it was favorably received by the publishing house "Donbass", and after a long ordeal with the printing press, finally came out. It is difficult to convey my happiness. It was, as they say, the moment of truth. Incidentally, while I helped the party secretary of the factory, which is called the printing press and asked to promote the publication of the book. Everywhere and always there are good people and bad, those who are helping you, and those who do bad things. This is known more from the Bible, but is learned in their own skin.
The ensuing thereafter attempt to join the Writers' Union, which has already become then "Spilka pysmennykiv" was foiled requirement to publish a second book. But with the advent of its chances to become an officially recognized "myttsom words" were zero. The capital's literary officials have done everything, to be created for at least one writer's union more democratic and open. And it created. In 1993 Oleg unforgettable Bishara, Alexander Dovban, together with friends after a trip to Moscow to Sergei Mikhalkov, Yuri Bondarev, Rasul Gamzatov managed to organize Interregional Union of Writers with the center in Lugansk. As the membership cards were given booklets with red lettering "Writers 'Union of the USSR" signed by the chairman of the executive committee of the International Community of Writers' Unions Timur Pulatov.
I will always remember how Oleg Bishara, he saw me at the other end of the street, I ran up and said, "enough to wait for the results of the selection committee in Kiev. Come to us. We will take you without any fees. You - a real poet. " Oleg was a straightforward man, sometimes sharp, able to say in the face of the author - mediocrity. He praised very rare, and this is his invitation was very expensive for me. The ticket does not become an automatic confirmation of professionalism, but belong to the writers' fraternity marked. I am proud of them so far.
Apples-wildings fly, fly ... are falling on the grass.
Life - it is also an orchard. In dreams or waking
Some blooms and gives fruit even in a dry year ...
Apple-wildings are not waiting for the water - just growing, growing
-Can be called the most significant success (personal / professional)
VS.?. At the root of envy, and the tongue is longer than that of the steppe weed. Accustomed to success you have, or not used to - but certainly familiar with envy. She'll prick pobolney. After all, she knows everything, always, about all ... And yet, if she likes you, it means you have found success!
Whence comes the anger? Out of jealousy or enmity, as the ice - water from a transparent, both from the boot - a nail. Clings sin for sin, and two of them even cold ... Anger medicine - success. Why did he come to the evil
-Your biggest disappointment (private / professional)
vs. Inter, as if singing a song. Inter and others, and their own, forgetting that here and there is only one shared moment. Sale gloating and flattery, gossip stained strange clothes ... not in favor with the honor of selling. That's all. The rest - lie
not to notice, not to suffer problems, not repeat -. "Country wine war" and speak the "black" - "whitish", looking silently out of the window. Do not stand even
in a dirty mess, to be on the side - not on the runway, to justify any obscurantism. And to be like everyone else, like everyone else, like all
Do you forgive -Umeete
vs.
Unfinished peace, love, change, inescapable, but not doomed.
I Forget, forgive rising from its knees, their anger drawing on infatuation.
Clouds from the soul soar to where they go, the sky hiding,
Where, being born, the hope beckons star, gaining completeness of paradise ...
all that hate - forgive. I look at close range - not to notice. And I see how the grass grows. Her, too - stomp, stomp, it grows back, not complain, growing as if singing. Sings to his heels evil, under the indifferent spitting. Above it - the sky live shine. И, ненавидеть не умея, растёт, беспечно зеленея, растёт — то песней, то травой.
Стараюсь не делать зла. И не обижаться на зло. А спросят: «Ну, как дела?» — Жизнь моё ремесло – отвечу, и буду впредь жить, избегая обид. Хотя и непросто терпеть. Хотя и сердце болит.
-Важно ли для этноса иметь собственных сильных литераторов или это в силу возрастающей космополитичности мирового сообщества уже не имеет значения?
В.С.: Честно говоря, никогда об этом не задумывался. И, всё же, литература – отражение состояния души общества, уровня его развития, его взглядов и мыслей. Важно, чтобы это отражение было на родном языке. Хотя переводы иностранных книг отражают всё то же самое, но не столь близкое и животрепещущее. Но нужны ли обществу сильные литераторы? Популярны ли они? Кого знает «массовый читатель»? Не зря ведь в опросах лидируют классики. И если рядом с лидерами – авторы детективных романов, значит ли, что это – самое важное и востребованное явление современной литературы?
«Всенародно известными стать не дано современным поэтам. Их слова вылетают, как птицы в окно, и — без ответа. Маломощны их книги, как Даймлер и Бенц в самом начале, и, к тому же, утерян терновый венец. Вы не встречали?» Во все времена любителей поэзии было не больше одного процента от всего населения страны, земли… Хотя бывали взлёты популярности, как в середине прошлого века в СССР, когда выступления поэтов собирали стадионы, когда Евтушенко, Вознесенский, Ахмадуллина, Рождественский, Окуджава – были рупором поколения «оттепели». Их фамилии были как пароль, книги их раскупались мгновенно. Читать и обсуждать их было модно. Правда, рядом с ними жили и писали Самойлов и Межиров, Тарковский и Левитанский, Слуцкий, Соколов, Винокуров, Бродский, Костров, Рейн… Можно назвать ещё десятки фамилий замечательных поэтов, которые тоже определяли уровень поэзии, были большими мастерами, но не столь знаменитыми, как их более молодые коллеги. Хотя, всё расставляет по местам время. А прижизненная слава поэта зачастую не имеет никакого отношения к поэзии.
Вот сегодня, кого можно назвать знаменитым, известным поэтом, хоть в России, хоть в Украине? Я, конечно, могу озвучить несколько десятков фамилий, но я-то интересуюсь этим профессионально, да и то знаю лишь часть авторов, стихи которых удалось прочитать в журналах, альманахах, книгах. Говорят, в Москве поэтический бум, называются имена Веры Павловой, Шиша Брянского (!?), Всеволода Емелина, Андрея Родионова…
«Такой оргазм! Аж слезы брызнули…» «И слово «х...» на стенке лифта /Перечитала восемь раз». «… Раскован солнцем зимний плен, / Задули вешние пассаты. / Не хочешь ли, мой друг, поссати / На флорентийский гобелен?» «… Так хорошо во время бизнес-ланча /Сидеть в арт-кафе с бабою. / И актуальным людям махать / Открытою ладонью. / А потом вечером забухать / Во дворе с подзаборной хронью».
Это цитаты из творчества этих авторов. Как говорит мой друг поэт Василий Дунин, такие стихи можно писать километрами. Мне вспоминаются другие фамилии – Геннадия Красникова, Владимира Урусова, Петра Кошеля, Нины Красновой – их первые книги вышли перед распадом СССР, тираж позволял купить их и в Москве, и в Луганске. Это отличные поэты, но их более поздних книг я уже не видел. В книжных магазинах продаётся совсем другое. Да и тиражи поэтических книг не превышают 500 экземпляров. Чаще – 100-200. И знают их только друзья и родственники.
Олег Чухонцев, Юрий Кублановский, Александр Кушнер, Лариса Миллер, Олеся Николаева… Их стихи тоже были с восторгом прочитаны достаточно давно, новые произведения узнаю из интернета. Да и в Украине количество пишущих стихи постепенно приближается к количеству их читающих. И тоже есть изумительные авторы, и среди украинских поэтов, и среди русских. Лина Костенко, Борис Олейник, Леонид Череватенко, Микола Малахута, Василий Голобородько, Юрий Кириченко, Тамара Севернюк…
Владимир Каденко, Андрей Грязов, Елизавета Хапланова, Виктор Мостовой, Василь Дробот, Наталия Мавроди, Елена Буевич, Сергей Кривонос, Татьяна Литвинова, Иван Нечипорук, Иван Волосюк, Ирина Горбань, Олег Фёдоров, Светлана Скорик, Виктор Шендрик, Людмила Черкашина, Инна Ковалева, Александр Корж, Марина Матвеева, Леонид Борозенцев, Лада Федоровская, Леонард Тушинский, Юрий Лебедь, Елена Заславская, Алексей Торхов, Сергей Дунев, Елена Руни, Геннадий Сусуев, Вячеслав Пасенюк, Наталья Вареник, Василий Дунин, Валерий Сурненко, Ирина Гирлянова…
Это только те, чьи фамилии пришли сразу на ум, а вообще могу назвать по памяти ещё десятки очень хороших авторов. Но известны ли они «широкому» читателю? Hardly. Чтобы стать популярным сегодня, нужно писать тексты для песен, да ещё чтобы их крутили круглые сутки радиостанции и телешоу. Кирей, Трофим, Потап. «Водил меня Серёга на выставку Ван Гога». Это тоже поэзия. Популярная. В общем, каждый выбирает для себя…
Странно, что на телевидении, практически, нет места разговору о литературе. Говорят, это вне «формата». Интересно, кто выдумал это понятие. И что входит в понятие «формат»? Бесчисленные «поющие трусы», стремительно теряющие остроумие КВНщики, дикие юмористы, давно забывшие, что такое юмор, бесконечные сериалы, похожие друг на друга, как необученные солдаты в учебке. А ещё – массовые полузвёздные дуэты и матерные шутки из клуба, который почему-то называют комедийным… Может быть, действительно нас всех хотят сделать героями сериала типа «Тупой, ещё тупее». Впрочем, смотреть всё это никто не заставляет. А книги издаются разные, в том числе, и очень интересные. И, учитывая пока ещё всеобщую грамотность, люди имеют возможность читать умные и серьёзные произведения. А писатели – рассчитывать, что их творчество найдёт отклик в сердцах читателей и принесёт удовлетворение не только моральное, но и материальное. Хотя, за такие мысли меня, наверное, можно смело причислять к отряду писателей-фантастов.
Всё это нужно пережить, перетерпеть и переждать.
Суровой оказалась нить и толстой — общая тетрадь
Судьбы, которая и шьёт, и пишет — только наугад.
Я понимаю — всё пройдёт. Но дни — летят, летят, летят…
-Можно ли сейчас назвать литераторов нервной системой нации, индикатором ее здоровья или это изолированно существующие либо редко пересекающиеся плоскости сообщества?
В.С.: Если это нервная система, то организм серьёзно болен. Ибо братья-писатели, с лёгкостью призывающие убивать себе подобных, воспевающие жестокость, насилие, мстительность, нетерпимость к инакомыслию и жителям соседних регионов — это ненормально. Литература – прежде всего, милосердие, сочувствие, сопереживание, стремление разобраться, понять, проанализировать… Многие литераторы вдруг ощутили себя, прежде всего, пропагандистами, для которых важна не истина, а рамки дозволенного. Это уже было в проклинаемом ими «совке». И теперь, проклиная, они творят то же самое, только в другой системе координат. Strange. Литература – занятие совестливое, и если она перестаёт такой быть, это очень заметно.
Добро опять проигрывает матч. Счёт минимальный ничего не значит.
Закономерность новых неудач почти равна случайности удачи,
Чья вероятность близится к нулю, как вероятность гола без штрафного.
Добро, проигрывая, шепчет: «Я люблю», и, побеждая, шепчет то же слово…
— Ваше пожелание читателям
В.С.: Девиз нашей жизни в последнее время «Невзирая ни на что», поэтому желаю вопреки всему добиваться успеха, максимальной самореализации, не унывать, быть здоровыми и счастливыми. Хороший плакат висит на входе в библиотеку: «Читать – модно и престижно». Желаю читать хорошие книги. Писать их. Получать от этого удовольствие.
И, в самом деле, всё могло быть хуже. – мы живы, невзирая на эпоху.
И даже голубь, словно ангел, кружит, как будто подтверждая: «Всё – не плохо».
Хотя судьба ведёт свой счёт потерям, где голубь предстаёт воздушным змеем…
В то, что могло быть хуже – твёрдо верю. А в лучшее мне верится труднее.
