In the Abrahamic religions,
to which traditionally it is customary to include Islam, Judaism, Christianity,
there is a general postulate,
that the Lord created man in his image and likeness.
This is cited, repeated for a thousand different reasons and reasons.
For example, in explaining to children how God can look,
or when explained to adults,
why they hate themselves so much – it’s not necessary,
because God created them after all in the image and likeness of his own.
But few asked themselves a question, including theologians,
why he needed it;
why he had to do it himself.
And the Sufis explain this in this way:
God himself does not know anything about himself,
and in order to see yourself from the outside, somehow realize yourself,
he needs another to reflect in him.
And there is a parable about the prophet David, who once asked God,
why he created the world, and he replied:
“I was a hidden treasure,
and I wanted to become explicit. “
In the Hadith this sounds like this:
“He is from the age, he creates, loving, Eyes and ears, to know himself.”
It seems to me incredibly clear,
laconic and wonderful explanation of our own unavoidable craving for creativity.
We also know that inside us there are so many secrets,
such a number of secrets that require an explanation, waiting in the wings,
that it is exactly the same need, and sometimes even stronger, –
we know that in periods of deprivation, people give up everything,
but from creativity it is morbid to abandon everything –
people and in the blockade draw, and in the camps wrote,
because this is one of the most necessary of all that is given to us.
Between us and time, this era,
between us and love,
between us and our craft, our work,
Between us and our future death, continuous negotiations are being conducted,
and they need decoding.
The moment when we release it, when we release it,
when what is hidden, what tormented, what tormented and demanded an exit,
finally becomes visible, becomes embodied
and frees our head – this is the moment of such icy happiness …
I think that you’ve all come across this.
These can be very simple things:
a moment of deafeningly clear, wonderful formulation,
which suddenly came and you yourself explained what is happening,
or the moment of acute jealousy,
When you meet your own thought in someone else’s text,
and suddenly you feel this insight,
this is the only important co-creation in the process of reading, which is revealed to us.
Being known and named, then hidden, which requires withdrawal,
may be terrible, it may not help us at all,
on the contrary, to push us against something quite unbearable.
But hardly anyone will exchange this moment of insight and insight,
so that you do not know anything, do not say anything, do not see anything in the end.
Because, as it seems to me,
in society with the artist, with the creator in a broad sense
quite tough and at the same time incredibly crafty contract:
on the one hand, it requires a detailed report,
regular, permanent, exhaustive
about all his research, searches, insights and discoveries within himself.
It craves the new, it seeks for itself the truth,
it very rigidly chastises the artist for self-repetition, for compromises,
for defaults, for periods of long inactivity.
It is incredibly demanding to him.
In fact, it does not want any truth about itself.
It wants it to be beautiful,
that was comforting,
so that one can shed tears of light sadness.
And most importantly, it wants what is already well known,
to the fact that it has already been signed;
for everything else it punishes quite severely,
so all the searches on the creative path are associated with great dangers.
Since the artist is very vulnerable to listening to this,
he has a risk, having gone on about these expectations,
to turn over with time into an artisan, in a dealer of postcards with verses,
artist from Arbat, who paints portraits most pleasing to the customer.
And this is a thing to remember,
because hardly a talented person
practically in any area
together with this recognition, together with the first praise
is endowed by society with an almost unbearable load of expectations.
They touch absolutely everything …
Just like today’s beautiful Alla talked about how,
how many expectations do we have about our children
and how we decide everything for them at the moment when they are born, –
about the same way the society has a clear plan already at that moment,
when you took your first picture or wrote your first book.
It already knows roughly where it will put you
and what it wants to see from you,
and it’s incredibly hard,
because every next step you disappoint your main fans,
you betray yourself,
you amaze your parents and friends,
you give up labels,
you in general, if you are a true artist, all the time you recreate yourself –
this is a traumatic and difficult process.
My long-awaited literary suicide –
and it is written: “long-awaited literary suicide”
was first recorded in my 24 years,
when I barely managed to get out the first two collections of poems,
and it was very honorable that people literally buried me,
because I’m literate for them at least literally.
Before that, everything I read about myself was very wordy,
sometimes on several bands, sometimes in quite authoritative publications,
passages about how unbearably banal, imitative,
ignorance, cheap fame for unreaders
people are forced to deal in my face.
As this continues for 14 years in my life,
over the years it becomes even touching.
Every time you read that you are an upstart, a one-day,
a man endowed with a cheap cheap glory,
at age 31 you are already grateful,
because you are 10 years in one wheel at least, and you are pleased,
that there are people who are still angry with you for that,
what are you so untimely about yourself said.
For a fair amount of people quite respected in the “community”
there is some abstraction of the literary community,
as well as any other creative community –
I’m still, for example, the living creature of the Living Magazine,
a man about whom next year no one will remember,
a singer of the glamorous world, from which, most likely, nothing will remain, and so on.
Also it would be desirable to kiss these people which till now write these comments,
because against the background of, for example, the next generation
“Poets from social networks” of the so-called “young lions”
who came to wipe us from the face of the Earth, as Boris Borisovich,
I am already so gray, low and old northern moss, inconspicuous,
that if they encounter here with them, then I am afraid for their mental health
for real.
Different epochs were assigned to the artist, and, to clarify,
then the person of my profession – the poet, the artist – different roles.
Here he is a sage and guardian of the experience of generations,
around him are students with deep awe and respect.
Here he is a prophet, a peacemaker – this is in a romantic era, –
contrasted ignorant, angry, dark, dense crowd,
who does not understand anything in his holy craft.
Here he is a humble witness and an eyewitness of upheavals, upheavals,
who has almost no right to personal evaluation.
He only testifies.
Here he is a rebel, buffoons, fools, around him bewildered townspeople,
philistines and philistines who do not know how to interpret it, what he means,
and conduct on this occasion fierce disputes with each other,
and becomes a recognized poet he is only 50 years after he leaves.
Here, at last, he the private person –
The concept, which reigned relatively recently –
he is a private person, absolutely nobody, a man in a raincoat,
who sits in his office and painfully analyzes,
how his age changes, how his loneliness changes,
how he changes his place, how his craft changes.
And this is almost scientific work – this is a person who explores himself
in any possible angles.
“So, on the convex face of memory with all five scrapers,
yours today, to become a blind man, will recognize himself. ” – Brodsky.
There is bad news in this: while you are alive, hardly anyone
will attend to upholding your actual place in the hierarchy.
While you are present, while you are angry, while you are responding,
While you need attention while you are alive,
hardly anyone from the Earth will see the true scale,
Your actual place in the common system.
While you are here and with you can be argued,
you can interpret your words in any direction.
Live is not very generally accepted.
Everything will become clear only with your departure – you will immediately move –
literally the same people who wrote about how,
how ashamed to be you, every minute of your life,
they will burst into sweet tears over the fact that you were in their lives
and what a great man you are.
I’m watching this because I’m interested in it.
Incredible, amazing generosity is shown by people,
Just put you in the place, as soon as you leave this world.
Therefore, I only have one message –
when I needed to formulate only one message,
they told me: “As if tomorrow you
there will be no chance to pass it to people attentive and not indifferent,
who would like to hear something from you, what would you say to them? “
Remember, please, that it seems that professional expertise,
external evaluation – you think that this is an important part of your work,
you must correlate with this, you must check every minute,
that there at the other end of this string – in fact, no.
We were taught not to trust ourselves in anything and to doubt every success,
but the truth is that only you know,
where your creative process is going and what it should come to.
What is going on inside of you and that is looking for a way out,
and why it is so, and, strictly speaking, you enter into a real relationship,
you have a real contract with this –
with inner depth and inner truth.
Your goal, strictly speaking, is only one –
from the hidden treasure to become a manifest treasure.
And that nothing on this way could not get you
distract, bring down and persuade,
that only you are this hidden treasure.
Thank you.
(Applause)
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