For the independence of Ukraine. Iosif Brodsky: "Let's tell them, with a sonorous mother, marking the pause strictly: with a tablecloth for you, crests, and a towel for the road" Let's tell them with a sonorous mother, marking the pause strictly

Behind the lines of Brodsky's poem lies a story full of drama about the relationship between the two countries. Written at the end of 1991, and first publicly read in 1994, Joseph Brodsky's poem "On the Independence of Ukraine" caused a violent reaction, almost a scandal among the Ukrainian intelligentsia. And now ... The swing swung towards the west, and again the country was sick of geeks. Vanga is resting...

Dear Charles the Twelfth, the battle of Poltava,

thank God, lost. As the burry one said,

time will tell - Kuzkina, ruins,

bones of posthumous joy with a taste of Ukraine.

That is not green-even, wasted by an isotope,

Zhovto-Blakyt flies over Konotop,

tailored from canvas: to know, Canada has in store

It's a gift that without a cross: but Ukrainians don't need it.

Goy you, rushnik-karbovanets, seeds in a sweaty zhmena!

Not for us, katsapam, to accuse them of treason.

Themselves under the images of seventy years in Ryazan

with flooded eyes they lived, as under Tarzan.

Let's tell them, with a sonorous mother, marking pauses, strictly:

a tablecloth for you, crests, and a towel for the road.

Get out of us in a zhupan, not speaking in a uniform,

by address by three letters on all four sides.

Let now in the hut Hansa's choir

with Poles put you on four bones, bastards.

How to climb into the loop, so together, choosing bitches in more often,

Is it sweeter to nibble chicken from borscht alone?

Farewell, bastards! Living together is enough.

Spit, or something, in the Dnipro: maybe it will roll back,

proudly disdaining us, like an ambulance, jam-packed

leather corners and age-old resentment.

Do not remember dashingly! Your sky, bread

us - we choke on cake and the ceiling - not required.

There is nothing to spoil the blood, to tear clothes on the chest.

Ended, know, love, if it was in between.

What to poke around in vain in torn roots with a verb!

The earth gave birth to you: soil, black soil with podzol.

It is full to swing the rights, to sew to us one thing, another.

This land does not give you, kavuns, peace.

Oh yes, levada-steppe, kralya, chestnut, dumpling.

More, go, lost: more people than money.

We'll get through somehow. And what about the tears from the eye,

There is no order for her to wait until another time.

With God, eagles, Cossacks, hetmans, guards!

Only when you come and die, bullies,

you will wheeze, scratching the edge of the mattress,

lines from Alexander, not Taras's nonsense.

What was it? A prophecy?.. Or a closer look at the subtle nuances of the national character of the ethnic group living in Ukraine.

The name of the ethnic group, not the people.

The people are something deep, connected by a long unifying history...

But there is no this long .. Just no. As there was no ruler uniting non-kind.

There were rulers, but they did not unite the country and people, but tore it either towards Poland, then towards Russia, then towards Germany and again towards Russia ...

And again to the west and again to the east.

And the swing swung again towards the west, and again the country was sick with geeks.

And these swings of history do not allow the country to wash off the vomit of the human race, They do not allow to find peace and go smoothly, and not shy away from roadside to roadside, picking up scraps on one side and asking for alms on the opposite ...

Seasick...

Original publication source:

Modern Western Slavists now and then look at each other in horror. Their community gave Joseph Brodsky the Nobel Prize, but such people, such poets, cannot receive Nobel Prizes, as a rule. According to many Western philologists, Brodsky is a notorious xenophobe, anti-feminist, homophobe, periodically a militarist, in short, a monster. The Western world laid down its soul to destroy this, but, being in some kind of eclipse, gave birth to a poet with such terrifying views. Moreover, Brodsky and Western civilization periodically did not like it very much.

Brodsky's poem, for which Facebook banned me...

Dear Charles XII, the battle of Poltava,

"time will show Kuzka's mother", ruins,

That is not green-even, wasted by an isotope, -

Zhovto-blakytny flies over Konotop,

Tailored from canvas, to know, Canada has in store.

For nothing that without a cross, but Ukrainians do not need it.

Goy you, towel, karbovanets, seeds in full zhmena!

Themselves under the images of seventy years in Ryazan

With flooded eyes they lived, as under Tarzan.

Let's tell them, sonorous mother pauses, delaying strictly:

A tablecloth for you, crests, and a towel for the road!

Get out of us in a zhupan, not to mention - in a uniform,

At the address in three letters, in all four

Parties. Now let the Hans in the hut in chorus

How to climb into the loop - so together, choosing the path in the thicket,

And eating borscht chicken alone is sweeter.

Farewell, crests, lived together - that's enough!

Spit, or something, in the Dnipro, maybe it will roll back,

Disdainful proudly of us, like an ambulance, jam-packed

Leather corners and age-old resentment.

Do not remember dashingly. Your bread, heaven,

We, choke on cake and kolob, do not need it.

It ended, to know, love, since it was in between.

What to poke around in vain in torn roots with a verb?

You gave birth to the earth, soil, black soil with podzol.

It is full to swing the rights, to sew to us one thing, another.

This land does not give you, kavuns, peace.

Oh yes Levada-steppe, kralya, chestnut, dumpling!

More, go, lost - more people than money.

We'll get through somehow. And as for the tear from the eye -

There is no decree on her, to wait until another time.

Lines from Alexander, not bullshit from Taras
..............

About Joseph Brodsky's poem "For the Independence of Ukraine"

The poem became prophetic. The poet, as if by command from above, wrote what was torn from his soul, without in any way forcing his poetic will. And I often read it aloud to my friends. A law-abiding citizen and a member of a respected elite community, Joseph Brodsky did not dare to publish it in his books, but he did not leave a written ban on its publication. However, after his death, about a third of his poems were not yet published. It’s another matter that in all current collected works, including the last, most complete two-volume book, which finally included the poem “The People”, the poem “On the Independence of Ukraine” was not deliberately printed in any version, it’s good that they at least mentioned his. It was no coincidence that he himself recognized the risk of his reading his own poem. The poet Joseph Brodsky risked this by driving a law-abiding citizen somewhere to the side.

Let's take a chance and we, together with the poet:

Dear Charles the Twelfth, the battle of Poltava,

Thank God it's lost. As the burry one said,

Time will tell - Kuz'kin's mother, ruins,

Bones of posthumous joy with a taste of Ukraine.

Ukrainian troops, together with Hetman Mazepa during the Northern War of the eighteenth century, unexpectedly betrayed the Russians, and went over to the side of the Swedish king Charles XII. However, the Swedes, along with the traitors, lost this war. And only the bones of posthumous joy remained from all this. Yes, even Khrushchev, who planted "Kuzkin's mother" to both Russia and Ukraine, giving the Ukrainians someone else's Crimea.

Perhaps today this poem by Joseph Brodsky is the most quoted. At the same time, despite all the evidence, an audio recording of the evening at Queens College, where the poet read this poem to a large audience, despite the confirmation of the most authoritative Broadcasters Lev Losev, Victor Kulle, Valentina Polukhina, the assurances of his friends who personally heard the reading of the verse from the author, for example , Thomas Venclova, most of his liberal admirers and researchers unfoundedly consider the poem a fake, a fake. In response to the audio recording, they answer that he read this poem as a parody of himself, they call the organizers of the evening who made and distributed this recording on the Internet, informers, informers. It's good that neither Lev Losev, nor Viktor Kulle, nor Thomas Venclova bowed under their pressure. I think if this audio recording would not exist, and such responsible witnesses, politicians would have documented accurately that this poem does not exist at all. After all, there are already about a dozen articles that philologically convincingly prove that this poem is a fake and does not belong to Joseph Brodsky. So trust the philologists after that, they will prove everything that needs to be proved.
...................

“I will try to comment point by point.

1. A year after the death of Joseph Brodsky, I came to New York to begin describing his archive. The state of the archive is chaotic, because the deceased did not like this business, drafts were often thrown away, and if something was preserved, then, rather, contrary to the will of Joseph Brodsky. However, I saw with my own eyes several pages with draft versions of the verse. It was typewritten, as usual with IB: with several versions of the quatrain side by side, sometimes with hand-editing. Now the whole thing, as I understand it, has not gone away: the archive is available to researchers upon receipt of a sanction from the IS Foundation.

2. Our hero actually read these verses at Queens College (and several times in all sorts of companies, where there could also be a tape recording). Barry Rubin, who hosted that IB talk in college, is still alive. I once copied this notorious film from him. In addition, the late Sasha Sumarkin, the compiler of "Landscape with a Flood" (more precisely, IB's assistant in this matter), was present at that speech. He said that he persuaded IB to include poetry in the book. He flatly refused: "they will misunderstand" ...

3. By the way, just now the idea came to mind that the presence of just a few drafts - approaches to the topic - indicates that the IB gave birth to a verse rather lengthy and difficult. But the beginning was the same everywhere: "Dear Charles the Twelfth ..."

Victor Kulle believes that there was a fairly strong Ukrainian diaspora in the United States, not shy about cursing the “damned Muscovites” and “Katsaps”. And Joseph Brodsky was a patriot of Russia, as Kulle says: “... much in more than all the villagers, great powers and anti-Semites put together. When the poet ended up in the United States, he, as is known, did not fall into Sovietology, like many dissidents, who worked off their bread and butter in this way. Joseph began to teach literature at a provincial university, far from all the capitals, in the provincial Ann Arbor. Later he wrote in The New York Times that he "is not going to smear the gates of the Motherland with tar."

According to Viktor Kulle, it is quite possible that in the emigrant world he encountered some very greyhound Ukrainian nationalist, and he simply got him. “Joseph, I repeat, was (like, perhaps, all great poets) a much greater patriot of his country than the variously colored bastards who made a profitable profession out of patriotism.”
................

Ukrainians are stupid and have no reason to be offended by the poet. Each poet defends the culture of his people, his country. Pushkin responded to Mickiewicz with the famous "Slanderers of Russia".
As a result, they peacefully stand side by side on a shelf. Both in Russia and Poland...

As you know, the poem "On the Independence of Ukraine" is not the only case when the poet stood up with his chest in defense of Russian culture. Milan Kundera at the Lisbon conference said something about the historical guilt of Dostoevsky in the invasion of Russian tanks in Czechoslovakia. And all the emigrants from of Eastern Europe he was strongly supported. Iosif Brodsky responded angrily, calling Kundera a "stupid Czech cattle", also without choosing expressions. Later, Joseph Brodsky wrote his famous essay "Why Milan Kundera is unfair to Dostoevsky." Many Europeans were offended at that time.
.

So in the case of Ukraine, Joseph Brodsky felt personally hurt. Again I turn to Viktor Kulla, who wrote about this poem: “It is quite obvious that it was written by a great poet. Style - typical Brodsky. There is no insult to Ukrainians here and close. There is irritation with these endless and absolutely idiotic accusations that flow from Ukrainians in an endless stream. All these “filthy crests” are the self-names of Ukrainians, which they attribute to “filthy katsaps” (and this is also a Ukrainian name, since many Russians will not even understand who it is about). And all this is part of the propaganda mythology, the goal of which is to create a nation that does not exist, and which, no matter how hard you try, cannot be put together on one antagonism of Ukraine to Russia, of which it is still a part, albeit not legally.

And the meaning of Brodsky's poem is absolutely transparent. As a Russian (not Soviet) patriot, he could not perceive the secession of Ukraine except in the context of centuries-old construction Russian Empire and the fleeting destruction of the space of Russian culture... And even if it is rude, but geopolitically absolutely adequate prediction that the withdrawal from Russia will mean the inclusion of Poland and Germany in the sphere of influence in the second (at best) roles. Few Ukrainians will not seem. And for Russia it will be a difficult time, but for Ukraine it will be a complete nightmare….”

I do not hide, I think that this is one of the most best poems poet, and for the late American Brodsky extremely sincere, extremely emotional, and at the same time, extremely concrete.

That is not green-even, wasted by an isotope,

- yellow-blakyt flying over Konotop,

Tailored from canvas: to know, Canada has in store -

It's a gift that without a cross: but Ukrainians don't need it.

I immediately recall the Chernobyl isotopes, which pretty much spoiled the green-backed Ukraine, and the most powerful, well-known to Joseph Brodsky, rather radical Ukrainian community in Canada, and indeed, after the declaration of independence of Ukraine, hastened to visit their homeland with their Canadian canvases, and anti-Orthodox sentiments, strong in Ukrainian emigration. I also remember the history of the yellow-blaky Ukrainian flag, which borrowed the yellow-blue colors from state flag Sweden. Everything is written with skill, with the utmost honesty.

I was struck by the following two lines:

Goy you, rushnik-karbovanets, seeds in a sweaty zhmena!

Not for us, katsapam, to accuse them of treason.

This means that already in America, many years after leaving Russia, immersing himself in poetry, Brodsky simultaneously immerses himself in the Russian element, feels like a Russian - a “katsap”.
I know that there were researchers who believe that this is, as it were, the voice of a lyrical hero, the voice of those Russians who filled their eyes with vodka somewhere in Ryazan, on whose behalf the poem was written. Firstly, Brodsky would somehow make his readers understand his alienation from this hero. Secondly, it is unlikely that the torn off Russians would have read lines from Alexander before their death, or any lines at all.

And thirdly, if the poem is written as if on behalf of the entire Russian people (as it really is), which includes tormented, and obaleksandrennye, and Canadian-Americanized Russians, then you understand with what pain it was written, and with what a responsibility.
This private, autonomous from everyone, alienated from Jews, and from Americans, and from all other nations and religions, the poet, suddenly takes on the highest responsibility on behalf of all Russians to reproach the Ukrainians for their departure from a single imperial space, from a single Russia, " gnaw alone chicken from borscht. After all, Joseph Brodsky does not reproach either the Georgians, or the Balts, or our Asians. But Ukrainians are part of ancient Rus' where do they go? We must say farewell to them:

Let's tell them, with a sonorous mother, marking pauses, strictly:

A tablecloth for you, crests, and a towel for the road.

Get out of us in a zhupan, not speaking in a uniform,

At the address on three letters on all four ...

Parties. Let now in the hut Hansa's choir

With the Poles they put you on four bones, bastards.

Harsh, but disgustingly true. Indeed, if the Ukrainians did not find a place in united Russia, in our common empire, then, as Nikolai Gogol predicted long ago in Taras Bulba, all these Andriy, who forgot about the Russian land, have one road - to the Poles and the Hans. Poles and Germans have been sharpening their teeth on Ukraine for hundreds of years, even if later our “riding” brothers do not cry and do not cry for help. Enough! Enough! Enough!

Farewell, bastards! Living together is enough.

Spit, or something, in the Dnipro: maybe it will roll back ...

And in fact, how many centuries they lived with the same troubles, the same joys, fought together, won together, and everyone was on an equal footing, what kind of colonial relations between Russians and Ukrainians are there, rather, Moscow recruited from Ukraine both into the army and into the bodies, and into the highest officials of hard-working and executive citizens. And suddenly it was all over. Sincere anger arises in the poet:

Do not remember dashingly! Your sky, bread

We - choke on cake and kolob - do not need it.

There is nothing to spoil the blood, to tear clothes on the chest.

Ended, know, love, if it was in between.

What kind of colonies are there when all of Ukraine was molded by Russians from different pieces, not to mention the Crimea, finally stuck by the illiterate and ignorant Khrushchev, and even more ignorant Yeltsin in Belovezhskaya Pushcha.
But the ending of the poem by Joseph Brodsky is clearly prophetic, because, for better or worse, without great Russian culture, without great poetry, there will never be a new Ukrainian nation. There is no nation without culture.

With God, eagles, Cossacks, hetmans, guards!

Only when you come and die, bullies,

Will you wheeze, scratching the edge of the mattress,

Lines from Alexander, not bullshit from Taras.

Indeed, one can be brave Zaporizhzhya Cossacks, Stalin's eagles, Catherine's hetmans, camp guards (who else is most valued in the camp guard at all times? Except perhaps Asians, because they are indifferent to Russians?), but without relying on the great world culture no Cossack courage or vertukhai diligence will help. Then you will have to go under another - the great German culture, but they will not tolerate any equality with themselves. You can’t call them katsaps, they will quickly let you know their lackey place. And you can't just build a national culture on local nonsense. “Taras’s nonsense” is approximately in these lines of his: “Shut up, black-shave, she’s not with Muscovites, but Muscovites are strangers. It’s hard to shy away from you ”(Kobzar" Katerina). Although Taras Shevchenko owed much, if not all, to Russian culture, he decided to forget about it.

That's all. A sad and tragic, angrily farewell poem by a Russian poet. I sincerely regret that he did not dare to publish it during his lifetime, thereby removing all controversy. On the other hand, he willingly read it more than once at evenings, knowing full well that it was being recorded on a tape recorder. Indeed, he personally was very worried about this unexpected separation of all Ukraine from Russia. His closest friend Lev Losev said: “He not only considered Ukraine to be a single, as they say now, “cultural space” with Great Russia, but he also strongly felt it as his historical homeland. I do not want to quote the last expression, because for Brodsky it was a very intimately felt idea. Feeling like “Joseph from Brod”…”

After all, it's not about how good the poem is. Any poet has failures, drafts, failures, treat this as a delusion of the author, but no, no. Already from year to year there is a wave of new liberal attacks: this is just a parody of Brodsky. Interestingly, the Ukrainians themselves are confident in the authenticity of the poem, and their controversy is already on a semantic issue.

The constant comparisons of this poem with "Slanderers of Russia" by Alexander Pushkin are not accidental. Both poets amazed their contemporaries with their unconcealed statehood and imperialism.

And the reason is about the same: the dispute of the Slavs among themselves.

What are you fussing about, folk vitias?

Why are you threatening Russia with an anathema?

What angered you? unrest in Lithuania?

Leave: this is a dispute between the Slavs,

Domestic, old dispute, already weighed by fate,

A question that you can't answer.

And in fact, it is not for the Americans to decide the question: “Will the Slavic streams merge into the Russian sea? Will it run out? Here's a question…" And if we also add Dostoevsky’s word about the Slavs, then we will feel even more acutely the ancient contradictions between seemingly close Slavic peoples: “Russia will not have, and never has had, such haters, envious people, slanderers and even obvious enemies, like all these Slavic tribes, as soon as Russia liberates them, and Europe agrees to recognize them as liberated! And let them not object to me, do not dispute, do not shout at me that I am exaggerating and that I am a hater of the Slavs! .. Perhaps for a whole century, or even more, they will ceaselessly tremble for their freedom and fear the lust for power in Russia; they will curry favor with the European states, they will slander Russia, gossip about it and intrigue against it…”

That's how Ukraine is, nothing new. It is no coincidence that, inciting themselves, it was the Ukrainians who were the first to publish this poem by Brodsky “On the Independence of Ukraine” in 1996 in Kyiv in the newspaper “Voice of a Gromadyanin” No. 3. The expected flurry of swearing immediately followed. In Russia, for the first time, this poem was reprinted in Limonka, and then in the Day of Literature. It spread widely and became well-known, especially with the advent of the Internet, demonstrating the radical evolution of Brodsky's views from Soviet-liberal to imperial.

A certain Ukrainian academician Pavlo Kisliy gave his Ukrainian answer, which, unfortunately, was absolutely inexpressive poetically. How can one not remember “a line from Alexander or bullshit from Taras”, even the most radical Ukrainians instantly remembered the vivid lines from Brodsky, and no one remembers a word from the answer of the sour academician. The response to “katsap-Brodsky” only contains a very badly rhymed list of historical grievances of Ukrainians

Well, goodbye, katsapi!

Nareshti mi rose up with paths.

You, singing, back to the "evil empire",

We, Khokhols, know for a zmagannya with Poles ...

And good for you, worthless slave!

You are a fake dissident of the zabіshovichenoї Rosії,

Double-headed eagle faithful servant,

Pogonich of the invented Messiah.

Do not guess why you cursed Ukraine,

You are not a color for the Russian people.

You are a worthless imperial chauvinist,

Not a warty of Taras.

The poet and prose writer Oksana Zabuzhko tried to answer Joseph Brodsky:

Line "lament for the empire" - as if writing bee buv Brodsky,

That scholov od crying - i, vіd "їhawshi in Amgerst, castle.

Hey whoever you want, that cry. I cheerfully grind my teeth...

"Crim. Yalta. Farewell to the Empire", 1993.

Neither the verse nor her article is convincing either. It would be better if they didn’t touch it, they exposed themselves to ridicule. Shortly before his death, Viktor Toporov offered his own version of the poem: “In my opinion, Brodsky’s demonstrative “Ukrainian phobia” is due to two reasons - macro and micro.

At the macro level, Brodsky never forgave the “leaders of the Union” for overlooking his inherent potential as a state poet, and reminded of this retroactively at the first opportunity: if I were printed in mass editions instead of Yevtushenko, you see, and would not fall apart your vaunted empire.

At the micro level, I would suggest recalling the film "Brother-2" with the uniquely disgusting "new Americans" from Ukrainians there.

It is clear that Brodsky did not communicate with any Ukrainians in the United States. Yes, and the Russians too. He communicated with Jews who had come in large numbers from the USSR.

However, some of the Jews came to the United States from Russia, while others came from (then not yet "from") Ukraine. And it was these Ukrainian Jews who rejoiced in the United States on the occasion of "independence". And it was to them, first of all, that the poet gave an angry rebuke ... "

It may well be that some personal first impulse to the appearance of the verse is felt. Maybe he read somewhere a poem by the Ukrainian émigré poet Yevgeny Malanyuk: “Let the predatory heart of Russia Polovtsian dogs tear apart ... "Something, but the jubilant Russophobia in the emigrant Ukrainian press after the declaration of independence was enough in abundance, let's recall Balabanov's film" Brother-2 ". And therefore, in this case, I agree with Mikhail Zolotonosov, who wrote that “The emotional meaning of the “ode” is an insult to Ukrainians. They lived together, as one friendly family of peoples, and the Ukrainians suddenly left the "gurtozhitok", which is perceived by the poet (or his lyrical hero) as a betrayal, not so much political as family ... A curious situation: usually poems comment on life, but here life gave a comment on the poem ... "That's right, the poem, albeit extremely emotional, but not so noticed in the press, now, during the time of our Ukrainian-Russian confrontation, and indeed became a symbol of our relations. "We lived together, that's enough ...".

The poet himself said more than once that this is the private opinion of a private person. He liked to refer to his privacy. When he dine in his favorite Venetian trattoria, drinks his favorite grappa or Swedish vodka "Bitter Drops" - he really is a private person. Yes, the trouble is, being a great poet, when he touches poetry, he ceases to be a private person, and becomes the property of millions, and his opinion influences the opinion of millions. Sometimes more than the opinion of the president of the country. And in this sense, his ode to the independence of Ukraine is a document of the era!

And what about the tears from the eye,

There is no order for her to wait until another time.

It is no coincidence that today in the Internet voting this poem by Brodsky was included in the list of the hundred best poems of all times and peoples. The poem was written in 1991, first read to a wide audience in 1994, which is already interesting in itself. He launched him into public swimming after four heart attacks and two open-heart surgeries. I began to read it in classrooms already on the eve of death. It's not by chance. Less than two years remained before death. And how can one talk about the chance of such a poem for a poet?

The poet Naum Sagalovsky spoke very angrily about this poem: “The poem, in my opinion, is absolutely vile. You can probably choose another, not so harsh epithet, but why? The whole text breathes such undisguised hatred for Ukraine, for Ukrainians, that one is amazed. At first, in a sinful deed, I thought that this poem was an evil satire, as if a monologue of some not very, let's say, intelligent Russian chauvinist, over whom the poet scoffs with great pleasure. I must say that satire is sometimes present in Brodsky's work, so there was nothing surprising in such satire. But here is what Brodsky himself said before reading his poem in Stockholm in 1992: “Now I will read a poem that you may not like very much, but nevertheless ...” That is, he did not say anything about satire, in other words - the poem is written in all seriousness, on behalf of the poet himself. Which, it seems to me, does not honor him, on the contrary, presents him in a completely unattractive light ... "

I read in the Russian Journal an article by a certain Alexander Daniel, where he, re-publishing the full text of the poem, then loudly calls it a fake. Of course, this rather evil poem by Joseph Brodsky today does not fit into any liberal canons of fans of the Orange Revolution. Of course, today it has become much more topical than at the time of writing. Of course, the last line cuts the ear, where Brodsky opposes the “nonsense of Taras” to the Russian genius Alexander Pushkin. By the way, this line sharply outraged the patriotic poetess Tatyana Glushkova at the time. But where does Alexander Daniel's blind confidence come from that this "poetic text can never and under no circumstances belong to Brodsky"? Why? Because the poet calls himself a “katsap” in the poem? So there are literally hundreds of statements by Brodsky, where he calls himself Russian, sometimes adding, "although a Jew." Perhaps the lack of political correctness in expressions is surprising? But in relation to Asians, Africans, and “blacks” in general, Brodsky has much stronger, almost obscene expressions in his poetry, prose, and essays. He was almost proud of his reputation as a "racist." Daniel was surprised by the word “steal”, but where did the thieves “rogue” come from in the poem about Zhukov? “Could phrases like “sew us one thing, another” ... belong to a poet known for the Catullean chiselling of the syllable?”

How else can they. There are plenty of thieves and common folk expressions in Brodsky's poetry. The impression is that this same Daniel does not know the poetry of his idol at all, or ... he is disingenuous for political reasons. Among the Broadskovologists of the most different countries no one doubts the authorship of this poem. Maybe Daniel will call the author's recording of the performance of the poem at his evenings a fake? There are hundreds of witnesses to this performance at poetry readings. Maybe they need to be crossed out? These are my fans. Keepers of purity are ready to rob anyone. This is especially true of Brodsky's legacy. All of his Russophile poems are deleted from all collected works.

The authorship of the poem by Joseph Brodsky "On the independence of Ukraine." undoubtedly, although, of course, textual critics still have to choose the finished version from manuscripts and author's notes without censoring the text itself. But it is high time to print it in books, so that there are no doubts among different Daniels. The poem is beautiful, sharp, politically incorrect. But should a real poet think about some kind of political correctness? When I read “On the Independence of Ukraine” in 1994, I truly and forever understood and highly appreciated the great Russian poet Joseph Brodsky…

Vladimir Bondarenko

Dear Charles XII, the battle of Poltava,

Thank God it's lost. As the burry one said,

"time will show Kuzka's mother", ruins,

Bones of posthumous joy with a taste of Ukraine.

That is not green-even, wasted by an isotope, -

Zhovto-blakytny flies over Konotop,

Tailored from canvas, to know, Canada has in store.

For nothing that without a cross, but Ukrainians do not need it.

Goy you, towel, karbovanets, seeds in full zhmena!

Not for us, katsapam, to accuse them of treason.

Themselves under the images of seventy years in Ryazan

With flooded * (1) eyes they lived, as under Tarzan.

Let's tell them, with a voiced mother pause * (2) strictly:

A tablecloth for you, crests, and a towel for the road!

Get out of us in a zhupan, not to mention - in a uniform,

At the address in three letters, in all four

Sides. * (3) Now let the chances in the hut in chorus

With the Poles they put you on four bones, bastards.

How to climb into the loop - so together, choosing the path in the thicket, * (4)

And eating borscht chicken alone is sweeter.

Farewell, crests, lived together - that's enough!

Spit, or something, in the Dnipro, maybe it will roll back,

Disdainful proudly of us, like an ambulance, jam-packed

Leather * (5) corners and age-old resentment.

Do not remember dashingly. Your bread, heaven,

To us, we choke on cake and kolob, it’s not required. * (6)

There is nothing to spoil the blood, to tear clothes on the chest.

It ended, to know, love, since it was in between.

Why poking around in torn roots with a verb in vain? * (7)

The earth, soil, black earth with podzol gave birth to you. * (8)

It is full to swing the rights, to sew to us one thing, another.

This land does not give you, kavuns, * (9) rest.

Oh yes Levada-steppe, kralya, chestnut, dumpling!

More, go, lost - more people than money.

We'll get through somehow. And what about tears from the eye -

There is no decree on her, to wait until another time.

With God, eagles, Cossacks, * (10) hetmans, guards!

Only when you come and die, bullies,

Will you wheeze, scratching the edge of the mattress,

Lines from Alexander, not bullshit from Taras.

* The poem is missing from the NIB and apparently unpublished; was not-

how many times was read by Brodsky in the early 1990s. I found two inter-

no source with significant discrepancies - obviously, errors in deciphering

sound recording. The poem is given according to the third source - current

text sent to me by Alexei Golitsyn, with noted discrepancies with

second (later) Internet source ("option 2") and with more or less

random punctuation. - S.V.

* Commentary on the first source (Ukrainian website): "(Read on February 28, 1994, Queen's College, evening. With a magnetic line this evening). "

* Commentary on the second source (network magazine ":LENIN:" ed.

Cherinka at Quincy College (USA). There is a tape recording of this

* Commentary on the third source: "The text was transcribed from a videotape. I am responsible for everything except spelling. - Alexei Golitsyn." The recording begins with the words of Brodsky: "Now I will read a poem that you may not like very much, but nevertheless ... Poems are called ..."

* 1. Option 2: "with greasy eyes"

* 2. Option 2: "pausing strictly"

* 3. Option 2: "at the address into three letters, all four on the sides. /

Let now..."

* 4. Option 2: "choosing soup in a bowl"

* 5. Option 2: "like a mouthful, crammed full / torn off corners"

* 6. Option 2: "choke on cake, not for a long time"

* 7. Option 2: "in ragged roots"

* 8. Option 2: "chernozem with podzom"

* 9. Option 2: "you lackeys, rest"

* 10. Option 2: "Eagles and Cossacks"

Quote from comandante

Brodsky did not hesitate to express his (as it turned out correct) assessment of the national character of the natives of the territory...

I heard this poem before and remembered it ... Not words and formulations, but its spirit, idea, causticity, emotional outburst, lack of positive (to put it mildly) ... and very precise wording ... And I was surprised: where did the former Leningrader Brodsky come from such deep subtleties of the dark side of Ukrainians are known, and what prompted him to create such a rather aggressive poem towards Ukrainians? I must say right away that the poem impressed me and, in a certain sense, I liked it, I felt its depth, but in this case I do not intend to blame or praise the work itself and its author. I don't want to play along with Brodsky or lash out at him angrily. This is completely superfluous ... I will do without ideology and propaganda ... I have read everything that has been written about him here, and this is quite enough: the spectrum of opinions is presented quite frankly in its opposite, and I am overwhelmingly on the side of those who this poem praises ... Thanks comandante for the correct publication!

But I will allow a relatively small analysis.

Firstly, the poem sharply outlines the negative aspects not so much of Ukrainians (they are different), but of Ukrainianness as a historical and mental phenomenon ... well, I am not going to defend the Ukrainians themselves, because who, if not themselves, are the basic bearers of this phenomenon ...

Secondly, it is noteworthy that such a rather malicious, but essentially concentrated negative about mental Ukrainianism was written by an ethnic Jew who calls himself Russian and, as I read, does not particularly attach himself to spiritual and nationalist Jewry. His ideology (worldview) is largely Western, or rather Anglo-Saxon, and more British than American. Therefore, it is not surprising that he rode through the Slavs, no matter how bad they were. However, I don’t know where he got such a brutal Ukrainophobia from... Maybe crests got sick of the Arkhangelsk zone? or the American Ukrainian community in Michigan and New York? Or maybe his parents/grandfathers (I don’t know where they came from to St. Petersburg) were smashed by the Ukrainian Nazis? Anti-Semitism in Ukraine is a long-standing phenomenon, stable and insurmountable until now, despite a long lull... This is incomprehensible to me, figuratively speaking, "where does the guy get Spanish sadness?"...

The exact date of writing the poem has not been determined (the beginning of the 1990s, to the so-called independence) ... I found a mysterious phrase on the Internet: "The authenticity of the poem has long been a cause for heated debate among scientists and Brodsky's admirers. And now, after 23 years after the appearance of the work, the authorship of Brodsky was proved .... Strange, however, the dispute, and these "scientists" and "admirers" themselves, if he himself performed it ...

And why did it lie around somewhere unclaimed for 23 years? ... The US authorities banned it from being "released" before the Maidan of 2014? Did he read someone else's, although the poetic style is clearly his?

Well, and thirdly: according to all "metrics", I myself belong to the so-called. "full-blooded Ukrainians", although she was born in the Baltics and raised in a Russian city near the coast of the southernmost part of the Baltic Sea. But until adulthood, often visiting grandparents in Ukraine, she mastered well the language and customs of the Ukrainian village, as well as the capital Kiev ... As a result (moving her life around the republics of the USSR) she became a mental Soviet imperialist, painfully reacting to the current restrictions in this the very movement through the "places of childhood and youth" that have become to one degree or another familiar ... it just infuriates me!
The most vicious and Svidomo relatives, inherited from my parents’ brothers, have ceased to maintain contact with me, and I don’t remind myself of myself ... and those who live more modestly and poorer still experience good family feelings ...

Another thing is surprising: rewinding my memories to the 60s, I came to an interesting conclusion. In terms of the mentality of rural Ukrainians and urban Kievans, in terms of their attitude towards Russia and towards Russians, the Maidan was ready to take place already in those years ... Everything that Brodsky so impartially described and not accidentally stuck out already really existed, but like dirty and unsightly stones and snags at the bottom of the reservoir, it was hidden by the semi-muddy water of Soviet patriotism and internationalism ... The tide went out - and everything was bare, bristled ... it smelled musty, like in a neglected swamp, all sorts of slugs, worms and predatory insects crawled out ... Not it’s worth saving this reservoir for the time being, until the vile living creatures die, and the stones and gilyaks crumble into dust ... But harmless fish, helplessly gaping their mouths in a dirty slush from lack of water, it’s a pity ... they need to be saved ... anyway someday ... let them sail to us in Russia ...

Here, something like this ... about independence and Brodsky ... chaotic and long ... it's hard to read such multi-bookoff texts ...

18/03/2014

AND Osif Brodsky. On the independence of Ukraine (1994)

Dear Charles XII, the battle of Poltava,
thank God, lost. As the burry one said,
"time will show Kuzka's mother", ruins,
bones of posthumous joy with a taste of Ukraine.
That is not green-even, wasted by an isotope, -
yellow-blakyt flying over Konotop,
cut from canvas, to know, Canada has in store.
For nothing that without a cross, but Ukrainians do not need it.
Goy you, towel, karbovanets, seeds in full zhmena!
Not for us, katsapam, to accuse them of treason.
Themselves under the images of seventy years in Ryazan
with flooded eyes they lived, as under Tarzan.
Let's tell them, sonorous mother pauses, delaying strictly:
a tablecloth to you, crests, and a road towel!
Get out of us in a zhupan, not to mention - in a uniform,
to the address for three letters, for all four
sides. Now let the Hans in the hut in chorus
with Poles put you on four bones, bastards.
How to climb into the loop - so together, choosing the path in more often,
and eating chicken from borscht alone is sweeter.
Farewell, crests, lived together - that's enough!
Spit, or something, in the Dnipro, maybe it will roll back,
proudly disdaining us, like an ambulance, jam-packed
leather corners and age-old resentment.
Do not remember dashingly. Your bread, heaven,
us, we choke on cake and kolob, not required.
There is nothing to spoil the blood, to tear clothes on the chest.
It ended, to know, love, since it was in between.
What to poke around in vain in torn roots with a verb?
You gave birth to the earth, soil, black soil with podzol.
It is full to swing the rights, to sew to us one thing, another.
This land does not give you, kavuns, peace.
Oh yes, levada-steppe, kralya, chestnut, dumpling!
More, go, lost - more people than money.
We'll get through somehow. And what about tears from the eye -
there is no decree on her, to wait until another time.
With God, eagles, Cossacks, hetmans, guards!
Only when you come and die, bullies,
you will wheeze, scratching the edge of the mattress,
lines from Alexander, not Taras's nonsense.

Brodsky's heirs forbade publication of the poem, but it spread widely and became well known, demonstrating the radical evolution of Brodsky's views from Soviet-liberal to thickly imperial. In the modern cultural and political context, the poem is interesting primarily because you rub our democrat, liberal, supporter of freedom of creativity - and you will find under the outer layer a supporter of the One and Indivisible Empire (“The Russian State is One and Indivisible” - Code of Laws of the Russian Empire. Vol. 1 Part I, section 1, item 1), because in Russia, as is known, every movement begins with the left foot, but with alignment to the right.

Another aspect of interest in the text is associated with the promise to the Ukrainians of the dangers that await them without the protection of Great Russia, which they so frivolously got rid of: “now let the Hans / with the Poles put you on four bones in the hut in a choir, bastards.” Naturally, there are different points of view on this matter, but the Nobel laureate undoubtedly predicted something accurately.

True, the Great Russian defense to many in Ukraine both in Soviet and post-Soviet times reminded of the “prison of peoples”, because Ukraine is large and diverse, these are at least three different states, shot down by Stalin and Khrushchev into one, but Brodsky tried to forget about it.