poets [Theme] Page 3

You can't call yourself a director at 18. Just because you don't have any life experience yet. Neither the trauma of parting, nor the experience of reflections, nor fundamental disappointments, there is nothing yet; your language is still borrowed; you can, inspired by someone, repeat his style, retell similar stories, imitating the handwriting of an idol; admire someone - and this happens to any future artist. All poets caught themselves on the fact that they began, imitating Tsvetaeva, Brodsky or someone else, however, having matured, having filled their hand, and therefore, "having filled the bumps", having received an education not only at the student's bench, but also in life itself, one should realize that that you are not an epigone or simulacrum, that you need to create your own space - your own, not borrowed. And this is the most valuable thing, but it also requires courage. Courage assumes that you are not afraid to reveal yourself. And the willingness to show such courage indicates that there is something to show.

All these wonderful names, all these brilliant guys - Konstantin Simonov, Yevgeny Dolmatovsky, Boris Slutsky - military men, political leaders, fighters - they felt under themselves, above themselves, around themselves the war, and not only the Great Patriotic War, they all began earlier, on all sorts of "annexations" - and the country itself through the war learned. For Russian literature, such behavior was common. "There will be a war - I will go to war," Chekhov wrote. Naturally, he would have gone as a doctor, as, say, in his time Konstantin Leontiev. In this sense, something broke recently: I didn't even really notice when. Okay, pacifists would come out from everywhere - these at least have beliefs - no, some new, amazing creatures: poets outside politics, outside the war - well, it seems like it's not their royal business to pay attention to all sorts of machine gun crackling there. Can you imagine Pushkin, or Blok, or Yesenin, who would say about themselves that they are "out of politics"? Yes, even Brodsky. Outside politics, outside the empire, out of confrontation. Where then?

- Yes, when their mind fails.

Do not take the poets Muse "Femme Fatal" Gorgon-Medusa.
God forbid you are in love with her, you will ruin the eye-killers.
Will not help you trick Perseus and talent your turn to stone.
Her eyes, blue azure, your ship will sink in the storm.

The question arises in front of me sometimes
And no answer from me, I do not comprehend:
Poets l repeat the life and death of their heroes?
Poetry singers foreshadows their fate?

And now I think about the eagles: "the Eagles the eagles the essence, and that's all. They are predatory, carnivorous, but have in the justification that nature gave them only antivegetativa. And as they, at the same time strong, farsighted, quick and ruthless, it is very natural that with the appearance of them, all feathered Kingdom in a hurry to conceal. And it comes from fear, not from admiration, as say the poets. And the eagles always live in alienation, in inaccessible places, hospitality is not doing, but Rob, and in his free time asleep robbery".

"While it does not require the poet to sacred sacrifice to the Apollo of the children a tiny world, perhaps, insignificance of it all". Tell the ordinary language idea of Pushkin, and you get a page of neuropathology: all neurotics are commonly transferred from a state of extreme excitement - to the perfect prostration. The poets too: and proud of it.

Better defender we can find. The poets talk about your victories!
Because I paid them.

Better defender we can find. The poets talk about your victories!
Because I paid them.

- To play God. Select the "160". What are we looking for in the faces of these strangers? We know what is important: a high IQ, genetic health, reproductive performance, skills, but what are the priorities?
And creative people? Musicians, poets? Will take them?
I'll fix it if Picasso engine? Whether Bono will give birth to a child?
- Yes, I understand the need for a practical choice, but except for the colonization of Mars by man, no need to save the best of what makes us human? Who knows what we'd be if not for the primitive story-tellers, with their drawings in the caves?