1.
Nightingale, O my nightingale,
You perch beneath the branches' veil!
2.
Like a ghost beneath branches' veil
He appears, the nightingale!
3.
Nightingale, O my nightingale,
Where are you, in the branches' veil?
4.
Amid the spreading leafy veil
Starts a song, my nightingale!
5.
Behold again, the nightingale!
He hops amid the branches' veil!
6.
Can you see him, amid branches' veil—
The herald of joy, O nightingale!
7.
Tell us, O my nightingale
What you see in branches' veil!
8.
Hark! Here next to branches' veil
The heart skips for nightingale!
9.
Mischief-maker nightingale
Sings away in the shady veil!
10.
From the secret shade of leaf-veils
He watches us, the nightingale!
11.
The angel of night, nightingale,
Whistles for it amid branches' veil!
12.
In the moonlit shack of branches' veil
He has settled, O nightingale!
13.
The muses' captive, nightingale,
In the secret shade of leaf-veils!
14.
He sits amid the branches' veil—
The muses' darling, nightingale!
15.
A lonely man and nightingale—
Together in the leafy veil!
16.
(Applause.)
17.
—I wonder if premonitions come true or not.
18.
—What premonitions?
19.
—Well, there are certain premonitions . . .
20.
—About what?
21.
—It's not important. If they come true, you'll know . . .
22.
—Oh well.
23.
(Pause.)
24.
A man is not a nightingale
Even if he's in branches' veil!
25.
A man is not drum or song
Even if he gets lost in fog!
26.
A man can't stop the flying clouds
Even if he's lifted by crowds!
27.
A man's not made of rocky deeps
Even if he just wants to sleep!
28.
A man is not who knows what
Even if he wears a coat!
29.
A man is not plain as a suit
Even if he's just an old coot!
30.
A man is vital to our own
Even if he arrives alone!
31.
A man is never all alone
If he's needed by anyone!
32.
What I mean, a man will get
If he's not an idiot!
33.
A man is not an idiot
Even if he just can't get it!
34.
A man is not a real man
If he's really not a real man.
35.
No, a real man would not oppose
Saying no to exchanging blows!
36.
(Applause.)
37.
—Do you already know?
38.
—What are you talking about?
39.
—Exactly the same as you.
40.
—But I don't understand . . .
41.
—Yes, you do.
42.
—No, I don't . . .
43.
—Well, if you don't understand, forget it.
44.
—You forget it . . .
45.
(Pause.)
46.
A man will go in search of where
He finds some peace and quiet!
47.
A man will go in search of where
He finds that he must be!
48.
A man will go in search of where
They're waiting hard for him to come!
49.
A man will go in search of where
They do not wait for him at all!
50.
A man will go in search of where
You can never leave again!
51.
A man will go in search of where
He'll be at home forever more!
52.
A man will go in search of there!
A man will go in search of there!
53.
(Applause!)
54.
—A gulp of air.
55.
—What? Gulf?
56.
—Not gulf. Gulp.
57.
—But I heard "gulf." That's even better.
58.
—Perhaps it's better, but I said "gulp."
59.
—I already understood what you said, but "gulf" is still better.
60.
(Pause.)
61.
—Yes . . . levels of communication . . .
62.
—What about—"levels of communication"?
63.
—This is what I think: there is probably a way of attaining these levels of communication, which are unattainable by any other means . . .
64.
—Well, probably . . .
65.
—Here you go. Then what are you arguing about?
66.
—I'm arguing?
67.
(Pause.)
68.
A man must sing a song
If his heart demands it!
69.
A man must love
Or he's no man!
70.
A man must come to suffer—
That's how he cleanses himself!
71.
A man must sleep—
His head is aching!
72.
A man needs all
He cannot do without!
73.
A man must live
If he's a man!
74.
A man must live!
A man must live!
75.
(Applause.)
76.
—Even amid noise, you should find rhythm and order.
77.
—But are they there?
78.
—Yes. You just have to listen closely.
79.
—Then that really isn't noise . . .
80.
—Then that really isn't noise.
81.
—Then, of course . . .
82.
(Pause.)
83.
A man can't live
Without a way to sing!
84.
A man can't live
Without a way to love!
85.
A man can't live
Without a way to suffer!
86.
A man can't live
Without a way!
87.
A man can't live
Without a way to die!
88.
A man can't live!
A man can't live!
89.
(Applause.)
90.
—I don't get it . . .
91.
—What don't you get?
92.
—I don't get anything!
93.
—What do you mean by "anything"?
94.
—Just that. I just don't get it. End of story.
95.
—Strange . . .
96.
(Long pause.)
97.
(Applause.)
A Little Night Serenade
Lev Rubinstein
translated from the Russian by Philip Metres and Tatiana Tulchinsky
Do not read this poem.
The writings of contemporary Russian poet Lev Rubinstein, one of the founders of Moscow conceptualism, are what he terms "poetic texts"; they invite us to stage, perform, or remake them. They are scripts, tatters of speech, the ruins of discourses, set into conversation with other ruins.
Rubinstein, a former librarian at the Lenin Library in Moscow, began composing these poetic series on library index cards in the 1970s, influenced by avant-garde traditions, Zen, and postmodernism. What I love about his version of conceptualism is that his poems can be read either as a parody of discourses or as the renovation of the fragments of truth they attempt to illuminate; in other words, I find the poems to touch on utter banalities which nonetheless contain elements of truth, even as they expose official truths as banal. He's a lot of fun, dancing between "high" and "low," but in the way that Frost believed poetry should "play for mortal stakes."
Recent debates about conceptualism in the American poetry scene are polarized between partisans and naysayers who promote the idea that there is a fundamental antagonism between concept and drama, language and lyric, intelligence and affect. The work of Lev Rubinstein (and, arguably, the whole corpus of Russian conceptualism) offers a third way. Rubinstein's work is a dirty conceptualism, redolent of lyric affect. It's a little difficult not to be moved by his poems, even as we see their relentless quasi-quotationality. Every gesture of his work oscillates between the dramatic pulsing of feeling and the constructedness and kitsch of feeling; in this way, perhaps, Lev Rubinstein's poems are a bit like Guided by Voices songs—each an entire history of pop music, drunk to the dregs, shattered, melted down, recycled, and reborn as another bottle.
—Philip Metres
The writings of contemporary Russian poet Lev Rubinstein, one of the founders of Moscow conceptualism, are what he terms "poetic texts"; they invite us to stage, perform, or remake them. They are scripts, tatters of speech, the ruins of discourses, set into conversation with other ruins.
Rubinstein, a former librarian at the Lenin Library in Moscow, began composing these poetic series on library index cards in the 1970s, influenced by avant-garde traditions, Zen, and postmodernism. What I love about his version of conceptualism is that his poems can be read either as a parody of discourses or as the renovation of the fragments of truth they attempt to illuminate; in other words, I find the poems to touch on utter banalities which nonetheless contain elements of truth, even as they expose official truths as banal. He's a lot of fun, dancing between "high" and "low," but in the way that Frost believed poetry should "play for mortal stakes."
Recent debates about conceptualism in the American poetry scene are polarized between partisans and naysayers who promote the idea that there is a fundamental antagonism between concept and drama, language and lyric, intelligence and affect. The work of Lev Rubinstein (and, arguably, the whole corpus of Russian conceptualism) offers a third way. Rubinstein's work is a dirty conceptualism, redolent of lyric affect. It's a little difficult not to be moved by his poems, even as we see their relentless quasi-quotationality. Every gesture of his work oscillates between the dramatic pulsing of feeling and the constructedness and kitsch of feeling; in this way, perhaps, Lev Rubinstein's poems are a bit like Guided by Voices songs—each an entire history of pop music, drunk to the dregs, shattered, melted down, recycled, and reborn as another bottle.
—Philip Metres
Lev Rubinstein is among Russia's most well-known contemporary writers and one of the founders of Moscow Conceptualism. He has been called a "Postmodern Chekhov." His work is conceived as series of index cards, a poetic medium which he was inspired to create through his work as a librarian at the Lenin Library. His work circulated through samizdat and underground readings in the "unofficial" art scene and found wide publication in the late 1980s. Rubinstein lives in Moscow and writes cultural criticism for independent media. The Compleat Catalogue of Comedic Novelties is forthcoming from Ugly Duckling Presse in 2014. He is active in the pro-democracy movement in Russia.
Philip Metres is the author and translator of a number of books and chapbooks, including Compleat Catalogue of Comedic Novelties (2014), A Concordance of Leaves (2013), abu ghraib arias (2011), and To See the Earth (2008). His work has garnered two NEA fellowships, the Watson Fellowship, five Ohio Arts Council Grants, the Beatrice Hawley Award, the Arab American Book Award, and the Cleveland Arts Prize. In 2014 he received a Creative Workforce Fellowship, thanks to the Community Partnership for Arts and Culture, residents of Cuyahoga County, and Cuyahoga Arts & Culture. He is a professor of English at John Carroll University in Cleveland. Click here for his website.
Tatiana Tulchinsky has translated many works of fiction, poetry, drama, and non-fiction, among them Leo Tolstoy's Plays in three volumes, Anna Politkovskaya's A Small Corner of Hell, an Anthology of Russian Verse, and the Selected Works of Venedict Erofeev. She received a Best Translation of the Year Award from the American Association of Slavists, a Witter-Bynner Foundation for Poetry Grant, and a Creative Writing Translation Fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts. Currently, she's working on a project translating and promoting English-language drama for the Russian theater stage.
