rotating kitchen from Zeger Reyers on Vimeo.
Above the federal buildings' yellow gown A hazy flurry circles far and wide Within the sled the coachman sits down And with a broad gesture hides his coat inside. Ships fall asleep. And in the evening, rocking, Thick cabin windows fill to brim with light. And monstrously — just like a fortress docking — Russia is breathing heavily at night. On the Nieva stand hundred embassies; Admiralty, the sun, and silence glare. The state's tight porphyry upon us sits, Poor like an uncouth bodice made of hair. Hard is the journey of the Northern snob — Eugene Onegin's well-cliche'ed despair; On Senate square are mounds of fallen snow A bonfire's smoke, and chill of steel made bare. The ducks are sipping water, and the gulls In waving folds of sea are gently lurking Where, selling lumps of beef or tender rolls, Like opera singers peasant men are walking. Into the fog a row of birds is flying: Self-loving, modest march can't wait. That goof Onegin, poverty decrying Is breathing gasoline and cursing fate.— Osip Mandelstam
Я вернулся в мой город, знакомый до слез, До прожилок, до детских припухлых желез. Ты вернулся сюда, так глотай же скорей Рыбий жир ленинградских речных фонарей, Узнавай же скорее декабрьский денек, Где к зловещему дегтю подмешан желток. Петербург! я еще не хочу умирать: У тебя телефонов моих номера. Петербург! У меня еще есть адреса, По которым найду мертвецов голоса. Я на лестнице черной живу, и в висок Ударяет мне вырванный с мясом звонок, И всю ночь напролет жду гостей дорогих, Шевеля кандалами цепочек дверных.— Осип Мандельштам
Sometimes I really do miss Russia.
Photographs by A. Petrosian. Click on the images to enlarge.
You know, in this place, I think, Dvořák had tears. He think about something very sad, that he alone. And you know, I tell you: it is enormous help to artist, to musician, just imagination... not just something in music, but around music. Once, when I was very-very young, I rehearsing [...] sonata by Brahms, first movement. You know this ... [plays].
I rehearse it with Svyatoslav Richter. And Richter ask me:
— Slava, what you think, which weather was outside of his room, in the street, in moment when he composes.
I tell to Richter... I was young, very stupid... I tell to Richter:
— I... you know, Slava, particularly in this moment I was not in Vienne with Brahms. Not in Vienna. That's why I don't know which weather.
And he tell me:
— You know, I am sure, that in this moment rain in the street. And he coming to the window, and he see very gray, and rain. And he coming to piano and start compose.
You know, he opened for me feeling.
Good taste is made of thousand disgusts.
Shprayz ikh mir mit gikhe mit gikhe trit,
Nokh a ferdl tsum yarid, tsum yarid.
Mitn tayser kling ikh mir, kling ikh mir,
Un a lidl zing ikh mir, zing ikh mir.
Tsu der shtot iz vayt, nokh zer vayt,
Shteyt a kretshmer bay der zayt, bay der zayt.
Brayt tse ofn iz di tir, iz di tir,
Kretshmer gib a glezl, gib a glezl mir.
Nokh a glezel, nokh eynz, nokh a gloz,
Gizt mir on der bale, der balebos,
Vos mir shtot un ven mir ven yarid,
Az keyn ferdl darf ikh nit, darf ikh nit.
Dos ferdl hob ikh nit gekoyft, nit gekoyft,
Un dos gelt shoyn lang farzoyft, lang farzoyft,
Un far tsores shpring ikh mir, shpring ikh mir,
Un a lidl zing ikh mir, zing ikh mir.
