Muruzi House

brodThe young woman (left) and the late Russian-American poet Joseph Brodsky (right) have nothing to do with the story, told below, of a Central Asian female migrant, working as a residential building caretaker in Petersburg, and her temporarily misplaced daughter. In recent days, however, this “graffiti” portrait of the Nobel laureate, which was quickly painted over, has been the talk of Brodsky’s hometown. The brutal conditions in which Central Asian migrant workers live in Petersburg and other Russian cities are virtually never the talk of the town, although it is their poorly paid drudgery that makes it possible for the “natives” to lead such rich spiritual and intellectual lives, chockablock with fine poetry and heated debates about “street art” and aesthetics. Photograph courtesy of the Instagram page Dom Muruzi

George Losev
Facebook
May 28, 2020

While I was at work, I found a little girl outside the entrance of a residential building. She was calling for her mother, her mommy. She was lost. Although the girl could speak Russian, she was unable, of course, to say where she lived and when she had last seen her mommy. But she was enjoying playing with a broken plastic motorcycle.

I couldn’t go to the police. Who knew what problems with papers the little girl’s family had? In any case, the police would shake down the girl’s mother and father and rob them.

An old lady in the neighborhood with whom I organized an ACSC (ad-hoc committee for saving the child) agreed with my assessment. During the ten minutes of our existence as a committee, we couldn’t come up with anything. Fortunately, the mother—a local building caretaker—showed up and fetched her daughter.

How disgusting it is to live in a society where you can’t go to the police, because the police are robbers and looters with blank stares.

George Losev is a housing authority electrician and revolutionary leftist activist in Petersburg. Translated by the Russian Reader

Riders!

vo-shark-1989Vadim Ovchinnikov, Shark, 1989

Swift-footed riders!
Don’t burn with envy beneath the gaze
Of those who died untimely deaths:
Be untimelier . . . and younger.
Don’t fear those minutes when there are tears in your eyes.
They are your succor.
Take special note of the accent and the gaze.
Don’t turn your back and don’t cower,
Otherwise they’ll finish you off.
Take the high note and sing! It’s better that way.
Don’t burn in acetylene. It’s immoral.

vo-the life of plants-1994Vadim Ovchinnikov, from The Life of Plants, 1994

PEARLY RIDERS!

Ye who write on the cheek of tenderness and delight
with red-hot tongs!
And the world is mad and war . . .
Look at the sky and you will understand
who you are . . .
Crutches are not conducive to movement—
the other self.
Will the unlocking of locks be employed
In gluttony?
We repent.

vo-hutsVadim Ovchinnikov, Huts (year unknown)

RIDERS!

Be careful when choosing medals,
But don’t save yourselves . . .
Thse hell with them, the whiners . . .
Surely there must be JUSTICE!
And there is LENINGRADCONSTRUCT,
Their name is legion—you cannot enumerate the tide,
Although its roar is clear and beloved . . .
A mouse lies there, poisoned by marmalade.
Nasty rotgut! The mouse has almost rotted away,
Its love will no longer touch . . .
The poor thing lies any old where
Like a karakurt.
But there is no evil in the water, is there?
Nor is there in the pit.
The bureau’s slippery railing scurries amid the winds.
And he was merry and tender,
And condemned immoral acts,
He did not outlive his veins, though, kicking the bucket.
And did the veins long pride themselves on the blood?
They were proud of torso and sperm,
Which had their own original guise . . .
He gave himself nothing but happiness.
SCOUNDREL!

watercolor-90sVadim Ovchinnikov, Watercolor, 1990s

RIDERS! AMIGOS!

them ones or those who don’t scratch the backbone . . . backb.
take care

of the backbone!
he is now presented as an asset.
he lies with a kerf along the backbone
and gazes into the distance . . .
stuffed with eyes.
lovely pupils perspiring
he trrrmbles all over like nobody I know.
he’s probably a lover of kisses!

did you go to the plein air painting session? well, how was it?
ah yes, I forgot . . . you shoveled hay
that smelled of roses, bast, fog . . .
then you looked, only . . .
cautiously so as not to break the glove
of the fallen moon.
did you eat horse meat?

Hur-raa-aaa-aah to the riders!!!

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Twenty-four years ago today (May 24), the author of these poems and pictures, the artist Vadim Ovchinnikov (1951–1996), was buried by family and friends at Volkovskoye Cemetery in Petersburg. Ovchinnikov worked in a number of media, including painting, watercolor, collage, animation, mail art, conceptual literature, and music. His works can be found in the collections of the State Russian Museum (Petersburg), the Moscow Museum of Modern Art, the Art Museum of Pavlodar (Kazakhstan), and Kai Forsblom Gallery (Helsinki). For more information on Ovchinnikov’s art and life, see the website ov-ov.com. All images courtesy of ov-ov.com. All poems translated by Thomas Campbell

Darya Apahonchich: #outdoorwallpaper

darya-wallpaper-2b

[darya apahonchich]

our private life has been invaded by the public, by the state. our borders are not where they used to be.

but you cannot order people not to be poor, you cannot order them to keep their distance if they have nowhere to hide or stand apart.

i have turned my house inside out with wallpaper.

#outdoorwallpaper
a tiny city apartment poem

darya-wallpaper-1a

1.
we
urge you
not to drink
from the common
cup
of poverty

darya-wallpaper-1b

darya-wallpaper-2a

2.
we have wallpaper and you have wallpaper
and the virus flies freely
in dwellings
only you come to us
with fines and billy clubs,
but you don’t invite us to your house

darya-wallpaper-2aa

darya-wallpaper-3a

3.
what if
what if
my body has become
home to the virus
I think
I am caring
for my loved ones,
but in fact
I am destroying them.
what if
what if
my heart has become
home to
the virus of violence?

darya-wallpaper-3b

Darya Apahonchich has been posting the texts and photographs of her outdoor wallpaper poems on Facebook and Instagram. Thanks to her for her permission and her assistance in republishing them here. Translated by the Russian Reader

Housekeeping

Dmitri Prigov
I’ve Spent My Whole Life Washing Dishes*

I’ve spent my whole life washing dishes
And composing elevated verse
It’s the source of my worldly wisdom
And the fact my nature is mild and firm

Here’s water flowing: I comprehend it
Down on the street: simple folk and the powers that be
What I do not like, I simply invalidate
While what I like is all around me

*From the cycle “Housekeeping (1975–1986)”

___________________________________________________

 

Alexander Dolgin, Dmitri Prigov, and Iraida Yusupova, Media Opera “Russia” (2005)

The cat who stars in Prigov’s Media Opera “Russia,” refusing to utter the motherland’s name after the poet says it, is just as laconic as the cat in Samuil Marshak’s poem “Whiskered and Striped,” familiar to many generations of Russians from childhood.*

*Stanislav Savitsky, “The Origins of Moscow Conceptualism in Everyday Soviet Life,” unpublished essay, 2020

marshak-stripedSamuil Marshak, Whiskered and Striped, illustrated by Vladimir Lebedev (Detizdat, 1938)

The girl began teaching the kitten to talk.

“Kitty, say ball.”
But it said, “Meow”!

“Say horse.”
But it said, “Meow”!

“Say tea-cher.”
But it said, “Meow”!

“Say e-lec-tri-ci-ty.”
But it said, “Meow”!

Just meow, meow, meow! Now there’s a stupid kitten!

marshak-coverSamuil Marshak, Whiskered and Striped, illustrated by Vladimir Lebedev (Detizdat, 1938)

___________________________________________________

Dmitri Prigov
So Life Below Would Flow*

I acquired a kilogram
Of fish salad at the delicatessen
Nothing wrong with that
I acquired it, and that was that
I ate a little myself
I fed the stuff
To my own native son
We settled down by the window
Next to the transparent glass
Like two male pussycats
So life below would flow

*From the cycle “Housekeeping (1975–1986)”

Thanks to Stanislav Savitsky for permission to quote his essay and inspiring this entire entry. Translated by the Russian Reader

Masyanya in Isolation

 

Oleg Kuvaev and patrons present
Masyanya, Episode 142: “Isolation”

Masyanya: That’s that. We’re not going outside. It’s a full quarantine. We’re never going outside again.
Uncle Badya: What, never again?
Masyanya: Oh, come on. There was never anything good about the outside. “Outside.” Even the word says it: “outside” is a nasty word. “Outside” is violence, disease, politics, filth, viruses, rudeness, thievery, and other shit. There’s nothing good out there. Forget it, we’ve over it. Yeah, by the way, this is Brodsky. He’s going to stay on our couch for a while.
Grundel: What? What Brodsky? What the hell! No one asked me.
Brodsky: Don’t leave the room, don’t make the mistake and run.
Grundel: You shut up, bro!
Masyanya: We don’t get asked much in this life. There’s nothing to be done about it, Grundel. You’ll have to live with him.
Brodsky: Things are silly out there . . .

Grundel: And how are we going to get the groceries from the courier?
Masyanya: You cut a little hatch on the bottom so only a box can get through.
Grundel: But I don’t want to ruin the door!
Masyanya: Well, then we’re going to order only thin-crust pizza, so it slides under the door. It’s much tastier, too.

Masyanya: We should have a regimen.
Grundel: We’re lying down, that’s our regimen.
Masyanya: We should do calisthenics every day.
Grundel: Kid now . . . but better at night.
Masyanya: And get up at eight in the morning.
Grundel: And go to bed at eighteen in the evening.
Masyanya: And learn Japanese.
Grundel: Well, kid now, go crazy. Arigato gozaimasu, sou desu ka . . .

Masyanya and Grundel: It’s you again . . .
Masyanya: Stop, bitch! I know it’s you again.

Masyanya: I’ve woken up. And the question is, what the heck for?

Masyanya: I didn’t know you were such a sprat lover, Grundel. Is your maiden name Spratman, by chance?

Grundel: Why the hell do you need so much wine, Masyanya?
Masyanya: The dumbest thing you can do when the world ends, Grundel, is be sober. Capeesh?

Masyanya: Things are going badly, my Japanese friend.

Masyanya and Grundel: It’s you again . . .

Masyanya: So listen to me, people of Cell No. 15, and hear what I say. Basically, there was writer and traveler, Thor Heyerdahl.
Grundel: Sorry, who was “high”?
Masyanya: Cover your ears, children. Heyer, Heyerdahl. That’s a last name, damn it. Open your ears, children. Wait, did you hear that? Whatever. Basically, Thor Heyerdahl . . . sailed off. Cut, cut, cut! So, basically, Thor Heyerdahl, traveler, wrote in his book about traveling on the Kon-Tiki that the crew would sometimes lower on a rope from the back of the ship this little sloop . . .
Grundel: Sloo-oop.
Masyanya: Sloo-oop.
Grundel: Sloo-oop, Sloo-oop.
Masyanya: Quiet! Sloo-oop.
Thor Heyerdahl: Sloo-oop.
Masyanya: Sloo-oop.
Grundel: Sloo-oop.
Masyanya: Basically, there would a dude in the sloop who had bugged the shit out of the whole crew, and he’d have a little break from the company of his dear loved ones. Got it? We’re in a similar situation, and so the bedroom is now a sloop.
Grundel: Sloo-oop.
Masyanya: Sloo-oop. Quiet!
Grundel: Sloo-oop.
Masyanya: Basically, if when anyone gets sick of our company, they have the right to say they have problems, and go there and sit alone. Is everyone clear? Dibs! I’m first!

Brodsky: Don’t leave the room, feign that you’ve caught a chill.
Grundel: Hey, Masyanya, is bro going to have a turn, too?
Brodsky: Don’t be a fool! Don’t be like the others.
Grundel: That’s an interesting thought.

Masyanya: What’s going on outside? Any zombies?
Grundel: No, there’s no one at all.
Masyanya: Uh, what a virus, man, it sucks.

Masyanya: Damn, they don’t have that, they don’t have that, and they don’t have that, either. What are we going to do for chow?
Grundel: I can eat beer.

Grundel: Hey, Shaggy, what are you doing?
Shaggy: I’m fine, I’m dating girls. I even like it better this way.

Grundel: Оh, you’re playing GTA! Basically, you have to shoot everyone, break in there and rob it, and then steal a car . . .
Masyanya: Uh, wait, I’m just strolling. I’m going to the beach, then stop by the store and the café. Why do I need to shoot, kill, and chop up people? That was fun before the virus.

A YEAR HAS PASSED

Masyanya: What, just go outside like that?
Grundel: Yes, the quarantine has been lifted. Go ahead, go for a walk!
Masyanya: Outside . . . Ah, what is that? The sky? Ugh . . . what shit! Listen, Grundel, the outside is nothing but trouble. I’ll show you a forest in VR. It rocks! It’s pretty and there’s no shit. Let’s go back. Let’s nail it back up . . . It was nice.
Brodsky: Lock up and let the armoire keep chronos, cosmos, eros, race, and virus from getting in the door . . . Ouch!
Masyanya: You get the heck out of here, bro. You were to blame from the very beginning. Beat it, bro!

Thanks to Comrade Koganzon for the heads-up and transcribing the Russian. Image courtesy of Masyanya website. Translated by the Russian Reader

mas_fla

 

A Room and a Half

Private Brodsky Museum Opens in Petersburg, Featuring Room Where Poet Lived.  Museum Will Host Tours, Lectures, and Performances
Bumaga
January 25, 2020

brodskyThe furnishings in Brodsky’s room have been recreated using projections. Photo by Anastasia Rozhkova for Bumaga

A private Joseph Brodsky museum opened in the Muruzi House on Liteiny Prospect on Saturday, January 25, according to Maxim Levchenko, the museum’s creator and managing partner at the development company FortGroup.

The museum plans to run closed tours for groups of fifteen people. Visitors will need to register for them in advance, and tickets will be sold on the project’s website. The price of the tour has not yet been set. According to Levchenko, the museum will charge enough to cover salaries and maintenance costs.

The memorial section of the museum occupies the room where Brodsky lived with his family. It was uncoupled from the communal apartment to which it was attached. In his works, the poet dubbed the space “a room and a half.” The furnishings have been recreated using projections.

The second part of the museum is housed in the apartment next door. According to experts, its purchase cost about 35 million rubles [approx. 510,000 euros]. The walls have been stripped, floor boards have been put down, and photographs hung on the walls. An amphitheater, where lectures and performances will be held, has also been constructed.

The museum’s creators note that they are collaborating with the Anna Akhmatova Museum, which will provide them with historical objects in the future.

In 2018, Levchenko stated that total investment in the project would amount to more than one million euros. He planned to attract partners after the exhibition was ready.

RBK wrote that the museum would be curated by the people behind Brodsky.online, a virtual memorial to Brodsky, produced in conjunction with the Anna Akhmatova Museum at Fountain House.

Attempts to open a full-fledged Brodsky museum date to 1999, when the Brodsky Museum Foundation was founded. With support from banks and sponsors, it bought almost the entire memorial communal apartment in the Muruzi House. It was not possible to complete the purchase, however, as the proprietress of one of the rooms refused to leave. Because of this, the room where Brodsky lived had to be separated from the rest of the apartment.

Thanks to Eugenia Kikodze for the heads-up. See more photos of the new museum here. Translated by the Russian Reader

Elegy
Once upon a time this southern town
was the place where a friend and I met.
Both of us were young and had agreed
to meet on the seawall,
built in ancient times: we had read
about it in books.
Many waves have crashed against it since then.
Back on dry land, my friend choked on a petty
but bitter lie of his own, while I
hit the road.
And once again I am
standing here tonight. No one
came to meet me, nor do I
anyone to whom I can say, Come
to such-and-such place at such-and-such time.
The gulls scream.
The crashing waves splash.
The lighthouse is more a sight
for the photographer’s sore eyes than the sailor’s.
I stand alone on an ancient stone,
and my sadness doesn’t defile antiquity,
but compounds it. Apparently, the earth
is truly round, since you arrive
at a place where there is nothing but
memories.

Yalta, 1968

Source

Mish US Tin

mish us tin

PUTIN (PUTIN’ UP)

Tin: Putin?
Tip Putin in?
Put Putin in?

Tin put in input:
Tin put Putin in.
It put Putin up.
It put Putin in.

Up, tin!
In, tin!
Pin, tin!
Put Putin in!

Putin putin’ it in . . . .

Putin in:
It? Tin?

Putin put in input:
Putin put Putin up!
Putin put Putin in!

Up, Putin, up!
In, Putin, in!
Nip, Putin, nip!
Pin, Putin, pin!
Pin tin, Putin!
Nip tin, Putin!

Putin in?
Putin up?
Putin pinup?

Ni, ni, ni, ni!

Putin pun.
Putin tin.
Putin nit.
Putin nut.

Nip Putin!
Pin Putin!
Tup Putin!

Putin
Puti
Put
Pu
P
N
Ni
Nit
Nitu
Nitup

Circa 2001–2002, East Rock

 

_____________________________

Mikhail Mishustin gained notoriety for arranging for two World Bank loans (in the amounts of 100 and 160 million US dollars) in 2002 for the purchase of computer equipment and successfully managing to pocket the money. At the same time, he built himself a luxury house, featuring a large sports complex, on the Rublevo-Uspenskoye Highway.

Screenshot, written and translated by the Russian Reader