Shcherbina Tatyana Biography

In Russia, many people remember on the programs of Radio “Freedom” the times of perestroika, her velvety voice, with which she either read her multi -stage poetic bins, then broadcast about how the tanks go under the windows of her apartments on Nikitskaya Street. Fans of poetry are familiar with her books “Dialogues with an angel”, “Cote d'Azil”, “Transparent world”, “Life without”, “On the tail of the time, park claws, I heard the name of Shcherbin in the apartment of Moscow artist Herman Vinogradov, when after the darkness of the fiery-sound extravaganza they included light.

It turned out to be the same Tatyana, whose poems at the end of X seemed to me a beautiful complex music, flickering flesh and sparkles. Tatyana was not alone, her husband was near her, Moscow photographer Alexander Tyagna-Rodny. After half an hour, we rushed around Moscow by car to visit Shcherbin. Have you been in exile? Recently I was in London, at the presentation of my book of poems “Life Without”, released in English translated by A.

You became known in Russia with your verses in Samizdat and programs on the Radio “Freedom”. How did you become a poet? Then she entered the philological faculty of Moscow State University. I had a favorite Chekhov phrase then: "I write everything except poems and denunciations." I knew the classics by heart, but I did not like modern poetry, the poems seemed shameful. Real poetry, it seemed to me ended somewhere on Pasternak.

Brodsky’s poems became the revelation - typewritten leaves that fell into my hands at the end of the school. After graduating from Moscow State University, I already had a child, suddenly poetry began to be out of me. It was like an unreasonable obsession. At first I hid this lesson, then showed someone, and very quickly met the then Moscow poetic circles. In those days, poems were copied by hand and handed over to each other, sometimes they gathered in apartments, in artists' workshops and read aloud there.

In the year in the Central House of Artists, I already took part in the evening of unofficial poetry, named in the spirit of that time "Poetry is a profession or ...". This was the first evening of this kind, it seriously discussed it whether the right to exist poetry, not officially published. I was first printed in a magazine in or year. Before that, there was only samizdat.

Articles began to go out about me in newspapers. The article was in the newspaper Sovetskaya Russia called Smerdyakovshchina, that I am Russophobe. In Pravda, the article “Let Dunky into Europe” came out in OM- that I hate the Soviet people and sell the Soviet homeland for “freedom” for 30 srebrenics. Like, they say, Europe, there and roll there. They were a little late- I had already left for Munich when the article came out.

I worked a lot for “freedom”, and therefore, therefore, they tried to get me from the world. At 2 a.m., a man stands and looks out the window. Then they knocked me down in the year. Was it really so hard for us? Every day I then performed on the Radio “Freedom”- with verses, with reports, with an essay. I was given a lot of airtime. Then a friend arrived, an English journalist from Independant, with his wife-Polka.

I left somewhere, and they asked me to live with me for a couple of days. As long as I was not, two masks broke into the house, with knives, attacked the wife of a journalist, all of her was cut. She was taken for me. It became clear, because it was not robbers, they refused money and shouted at her: “Bitch! You will never write again! So I ended up in Munich, then in Paris, then in America.

I returned to my homeland with my suitcases only I go from the magazine "Ge", to international poetic festivals, a couple of times a year, rest. In France, I received one, $ 20. I am invited to international poetic festivals - since they already know me, books in France, Canada, America, and England come out. So it happened. And in Russia there was no thought that I could or should give some kind of bonus, and, for my part, I also did not give signals on this topic.

And in this sense, yes, I consider myself a postmodernist. What I mean: once there were local crops, each of which developed in its own way. Then the cultures began to learn about each other, to mutually transmit. From some moment we know the whole Earth, its civilizational path, we have a full museum since antediluvian times and Litarchiv, starting from the afternoon "Tales of Gilgamesh." Today we live in this museum, and it is impossible to live in the museum.

When you are dealing with such a cultural volume, when you exist in it, it is impossible to ignore it. But this is not a question of the last century: as you see the world. It is important whether you see the future and whether you open the door into it, or and you put your signature under the manifesto that there is a dead end ahead. Today, it is attractive to its meaningful art made of fragments of civilization.

Rather, it was already yesterday. Quoting, changing the game - it gives pleasure. We are not overwhelmed by the energy of the rebellion, war to victory, deaf resistance. And we have a lot of material.We try all these disparate fragments - the Mayan calendar, the Kumran manuscripts, the human genome, the hypnotic attractiveness of black holes - to decipher, put it as a puzzle into a picture, we can guess on them, we can grope invisible wires, which are entrusted with the whole real world for us.

In short, exciting opportunities for subjective analysis, reconstruction, which is cinema, essay, novel. For poetry, time is much less suitable. But you yourself did not abandon the poems how for you personally prose differs from poetry? Poetry is a concentrate, she does not explore, her tension and her excitement are not intellectual, she calls, she is a nerve that builds her tongue into harmony.

In that sense, harmony seems to be with music that this language is defending a certain unconditional reality, arranges accents in it. And when the question is to find this reality itself, so that there is no doubt about its authenticity, experts need, you need to dig deep, the triad is in the triad, the knowledge-knowledge. I write poetry inadvertently, it is like the fact that a cloud is accumulating in me, and it is spilled with a poem, there is no my strong -willed participation.

I think an essay or a kind of essay in prose, but I can’t deliberately write poetry. Perhaps I simply do not set myself such a task, but poems arise without asking me. Young poets inspire optimism, in the sense of “struggle for survivability,” this seems to be called in great poetry. But I don’t want to call names yet, it seems to me that after a year or two the situation with poetry will become more clear, now the period of fermentation.

In prose, two novels of Frederick Begbeder “99 Franks” and “Windows on the World” like, both documentary and essential, in both cases, luck was generated by the coincidence of two acute experiences-personal and social. Michelle Welbek also likes, both of them changed literature, gave her a second wind. In Russia - a boom of prose. Of the young, I like Andrei Gelasimov, the novel “The Year of Deception”, the new novel by Sasha Kabakov “All correctly” made a strong impression on me, the prose of Dima Stakhov, the novel “Arabic horses” and a book of stories, where “Thousand and One Nights” were shifted to modern Russian realities, soon the new novel is published by Pelevin - the novel “Chapaev and Void”.

I then wrote a review of this book in my review in the journal "Brownie", so they did not want to print it, they said, why, they say, write about an unknown author.

It was eight years ago. All you like can not call here. His "Roman Roman" is written about me, by the way. There, the main characters Tatyana and Roman are me and my then husband, theater director Roman Smirnov. Sorokin began to write before the novel began between us. And our novels developed parallel, Sorokinsky text and my affair with Roman. Sorokin said that everything should end badly.

So it happened. At our wedding, we took wedding outfits in the theater of Geta Yanovskaya, in Mtuz, these were the costumes of the famous scenographer Sergei Barkhin from the play “Rui Blaz”: the queen’s dress, embroidered with gold, and black velvet camisole of her lover, rye Blaza, also embroidered with gold. I, frankly, did not remember the plot of Hugo’s play, for me it was just beautiful outfits, and Sorokin at the wedding told me that I took these costumes in vain, everything ends badly in the play.

The queen discovers that she has become a victim of a palace intrigue, Ryui Blaz is forced to accept poison. Our marriage was really not enough. Roman Smirnov almost drank, a couple of years ago he wrote a book about me, she was nominated for your St. Petersburg Bestseller Prize. Recently, he wrote the book "Silk demon", this is the name of my poem, which is dedicated to it.

I liked Sorokin of that period, but when he began to constantly replicate the technique found, I was too lazy to read. Sorokin is looking for a new positiveness to me that soon - in a year or two or five - a huge event will take place, which will open a new era for us. What will it be concluded, I do not know. Maybe the aliens will fly, and we will find out that everything is arranged not as we think.

Other measurements may open, time management will become possible. In any case, new pictures of the world are drawn by cataclysms.