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Overview
A writer who defies categorization, Daniil Kharms has come to be regarded as an essential artist of the modernist avant-garde. His writing, which partakes of performance, narrative, poetry, and visual elements, was largely suppressed during his lifetime, which ended in a psychiatric ward where he starved to death during the siege of Leningrad. His work, which survived mostly in notebooks, can now be seen as one of the pillars of absurdist literature, most explicitly manifested in the 1920s and ’30s Soviet Union by the OBERIU group, which inherited the mantle of Russian futurism from such poets as Vladimir Mayakovsky and Velimir Khlebnikov. This selection of prose and poetry provides the most comprehensive portrait of the writer in English translation to date, revealing the arc of his career and including a particularly generous selection of his later work.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780810134577 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Northwestern University Press |
| Publication date: | 02/15/2017 |
| Pages: | 278 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.10(w) x 7.70(h) x 0.80(d) |
About the Author
DANIIL KHARMS (1905–1942) was a major figure in twentieth-century Russian and Soviet literature. An enigmatic and genre-bending artist, he was among the most significant voices in what came to be known as the literature of Russian absurdism.
ALEX CIGALE was awarded an NEA Literary Translation Fellowship in 2015. His translations from Russian and his original poetry in English have appeared in such journals as the New England Review, PEN America, TriQuarterly, and World Literature Today.
Read an Excerpt
Russian Absurd
Selected Writings
By Daniil Kharms, Alex Cigale
Northwestern University Press
Copyright © 2017 Northwestern University PressAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-8101-3457-7
CHAPTER 1
Selected Prose from the Early Years 1928 — 1933
From the Notebooks (1928)
July 26. I am altogether some sort of a special unfortunate. Hanging over me in recent times has been an incomprehensible law of "unfulfillment." Whatever it is that I may wish for, it is precisely that which will not come true. Everything happens in a way contradictory to my expectations. Verily: man proposes and God disposes. I am terribly in need of money, and I will never have any, I know that! I know that in the nearest time, the most serious difficulties will befall me, that will make my whole life significantly worse than it has been up until now. From day to day, things are getting worse and worse. I no longer know what it is I should do. God's servant Ksenia, grant me your love, save me and guard over my entire family.
July 27. Who could advise me regarding what I should do? Esther brings with her misfortune. I am being destroyed along with her. What must I do, either divorce her or ... carry my cross? I was given the choice to avoid this, but I remained dissatisfied, and asked to be united with Esther. I was told yet again, do not be married! But despite "having caught a scare," I still insisted, I still tied my fate with Esther's, till death do us part. I myself was to blame for this or, rather, I did it to myself. What has happened to the OBERIU? Everything vanished as soon as Esther became a part of me. Since that time, I have ceased to write as I must and have only brought misfortune upon myself from all directions. Is it that I can't be dependent on women, no matter which one it is? Or is the nature of Esther's character such that she brought an end to my work? I don't know. If Esther is filled with sorrow, then how can I possibly let her go away from me? And simultaneously, how can I permit my work, the OBERIU, to so completely collapse? Fate had attached me to Esther in response to my entreaties. And now I wish to break with fate a second time. Is this only a lesson or is it the end of the poet? If I am a poet, then fate will take pity on me and will once again lead me to greatness, making of me a free man. But perhaps the cross that I had called down upon myself will hang above me my entire life? And am I then right, as a poet, to remove it from myself? Where may I find counsel and resolution? Esther is as alien to me as the rational mind. In this, she is an impediment to me in everything, she irritates me. But I love her and only wish her well. It would be best for her to separate from me; I have no value for a rationalistic mind. Wouldn't she be better off without me? She could get married again and, perhaps, be luckier than she is with me. If she would only fall out of love with me to easier bear the separation! But is there anything I could do? How should I pursue a divorce? Lord, please help me! God's servant Ksenia, please help me! Make it so, that in the space of the next week, Esther leaves me and starts living happily. And so that I once again take up writing, being as free as before!
God's servant Ksenia, help us!
Daniil Kharms
I was sitting on the roof of the State Publishing House ...
I was sitting on the roof of the State Publishing House and observing, to make sure that everything was going well, because as soon as you take your eye off things something bad will happen. You can't leave this city unattended for even a second. And who if not me to keep the city under a watchful eye? If anything untoward is happening, then we will immediately put a stop to it.
The rules for sentinels on the roof of the State Publishing House:
First Rule
The sentinel may be a man of the OBERIU faith, in possession of the traits listed below:
Of moderate height.
Brave.
Farsighted.
Voice booming and authoritative.
Mighty and without pretentions.
Able to make out by ear various sounds and not susceptible to boredom.
A smoker or, under extreme circumstances, a non-smoker.
Second Rule (What he must do)
The sentinel must sit at the very topmost point of the roof and, sparing no effort, diligently scan in all directions, for which it is recommended to turn the head from left to right and vice versa, extending it in both directions to the limits of the vertebrae.
The sentinel must warrant that order in the city is observed, in such a way that:
People not walk about willy-nilly, but as God himself had intended them to.
That people ride around only in those coaches which are specifically designed for such a purpose.
That people do not walk on roofs, cornices, pediments, and other similar points of high elevation.
Footnote: Permitted to carpenters, painters, and other manual laborers.
Third Rule (What the sentinel is not permitted to do)
To ride the roof's crest as though it were a horse.
To flirt with the ladies.
To insert his own words into the conversations of the people passing by.
To chase after sparrows or to adopt their habits.
To curse at policemen by calling them pharaohs.
(...)
To weep.
Fourth Rule (The sentinel's rights)
The sentinel has the right to:
Sing.
Shoot at whomever he will.
Invent and compose, and also take notes and read them aloud (not too loud), or memorize them.
Take in the panorama.
Compare the life below to an anthill.
Debate which books are published.
Bring with him bedsheets.
Fifth Rule
The sentinel is required to treat all firemen with utmost respect. That is it.
Founding members: Daniil Kharms Boris Levin (signatures); Assisted by: Vladimirov (signature)
May 22, 1929
The Family Gibberundum
I
Once upon a time, a fly collided with the forehead of a gentleman running by and, passing through his head, exited out the back. The gentleman, by the name of Dernyatin, was considerably perplexed: it seemed to him that something had whistled through his brain, and on the back of his head the skin popped and began to tickle. Dernyatin stopped and thought: "What could this possibly mean? For it is absolutely clear that I heard a whistling in my brain. Absolutely nothing comes now into my head that would help me understand what is going on in here. In any case, the sensation is quite rare, similar to some sort of a mental illness. But I won't think of this anymore and will continue my jog." With these thoughts in mind, Dernyatin ran along further. But no matter how far he ran, he couldn't reproduce the effect. On the deep blue path, Dernyatin misstepped and almost stumbled and even had to wave his arms around in the air to steady himself. "It is well I didn't fall," Dernyatin thought, "or I would've broken my glasses and would no longer be able to see where I was going." Dernyatin resumed walking, leaning on his walking stick. However, one danger followed upon another. Dernyatin started humming some sort of song, so as to dispel his dark thoughts. The song was a happy and mellifluous one, so that Dernyatin's attention was taken up with it and he forgot even that he was walking along a dark blue road, upon which this time of day, on most days, automobiles raced by at a dizzying pace. The dark blue road was especially narrow and it was quite difficult to jump aside from the path of an automobile. For this reason, it was considered a dangerous road. Vigilant people always walked on the blue road with great care so as not to get killed. Here, death awaited the pedestrian at every step, either in the form of a car or a dump truck, or in the form of a cart loaded with coal ore. Dernyatin didn't even have time to blow his nose before a giant automobile came hurtling his way. Dernyatin screamed, "I'm going to die!" and jumped aside. The grass parted before him and he fell into a wet ditch. The automobile flew by, thundering, raising above its roof the international flag of distress. The people in the automobile were certain that Dernyatin was dead, and had therefore removed their hats and proceeded hence bareheaded. "You didn't happen to notice which wheel the wayfarer fell under, under the front or the rear one?" asked a gentleman wearing a mufti, that is, not a mufti but a bashlyk. "My cheeks and the lobes of my ears are frostbitten," the gentleman was saying, "and so I am always wearing this bashlyk." Beside the gentleman, in the automobile sat a lady whose mouth gave her an interesting appearance. "I," the lady said, "am worried that we may be held accountable for the death of this wayfarer." "What? What?" asked the gentleman, pulling the bashlyk away from his ear. The lady repeated her concern. "No," the gentleman in the bashlyk said. "Manslaughter is prosecuted only in those instances when the victim resembles a pumpkin. And we are not. We are not. We are not culpable in the death of the wayfarer. He himself screamed, 'I am dying!' We were only the witnesses to his sudden demise." Madame Enet smiled with her interesting mouth and said under her breath, "Anton Antonich, you evade trouble quite adroitly." The gentleman Dernyatin lay in the damp ditch, his legs and arms splayed out. The automobile had already driven off. Dernyatin had already comprehended that he was not dead. Death, in the form of an automobile, had passed him over. He arose, brushed off his suit with his sleeve, spat on his fingers, and strode along the deep blue road to make up for lost time.
II
The Family Gibberundum lived in a little house by the slow-running river, Fierstream. Father Gibberundum, Platon Ilyich, loved all sorts of lore of high-flying fancy: Mathematics, Triordinate Philosophy, the Geography of Eden, the Collected Works of Screwycent, the Teachings of the Mortal Nudges, and the Celestial Hierarchy of Dionysus Aeropaginus were Platon Ilyich's most beloved subjects. The doors of the Gibberundum household were always open to all wayfarers who had undertaken pilgrimages to the sacred places of our planet. Tales of levitating hills, brought by various pilgrims from the Nikitinsky District, were met in the Gibberundum household with great excitement and intense interest. Platon Ilyich kept meticulous records of the details of the levitations of the major and minor hills. The takeoff of the Cabbaginsky Hill was particularly distinguished from that of all other takeoffs. As is well known, Cabbaginsky Hill alighted at night, at approximately 5:00, having uprooted and turned over a great cypress tree. From its takeoff point into the sky, the hill ascended not in an arc-shaped trajectory, like all other hills, but in a straight line, having performed slight perturbations only at an elevation of fifteen to sixteen kilometers. And the wind, blowing into the hillside, passed right through it, not even throwing it off its path. It was as though this hill of chartaceous origin had lost its property of impermeability. For example, a gull had transected the hill in its flight. It went right through it as though through a cloud. This observation was confirmed by several witnesses. And this contradicted all the known laws of levitating hills. But still, a fact remains a fact, and so Platon Ilyich entered it into the recorded data on the Cabbaginsky Hill. Each and every day at the Gibberundum house, honored guests would gather to deliberate on the features of the rules of alogical construction. Among these honored guests were the Professor of Railroads Mikhail Ivanovich Dumkopf, the Igumen Mulenos the Second, and the archecdysiast Stephan Dernyatin. The guests gathered in the first floor sitting room, seating themselves around an oblong table upon which was placed a commonplace trough, filled with water. The guests, engaged thus in conversation, spat in this trough: such was the custom in the Gibberundum household. Platon Ilyich himself sat holding in his hand a riding crop. From time to time, he would dunk it in the water and use it to lash the empty table. This was referred to as the "jostling of the tool" or "the jiggering of the instrument." At nine o'clock, Platon Ilyich's wife, Anna Scriblerovna, would appear to lead the guests to the table. The guests consumed both solid and liquid victuals, and then would crawl toward Anna Scriblerovna on their knees, kiss her dainty hand, and sit down to drink tea. At tea, the Igumen Mulenos the Second told of an occurrence that had happened to him fourteen years previous. He claimed that he, as a novitiate, was sitting on the stoop of his porch feeding the ducks. All of a sudden, a fly zoomed out of the house, buzzed around and around, and slammed into the igumen's forehead. It slammed into his forehead, flew through his head, and exiting out the back, flew back into the house. The igumen remained sitting on the porch with an exalted smile, in amazement that he had, with his own two eyes, finally witnessed a miracle. The other guests, having heard Mulenos the Second out, slapped themselves with spoons across their lips and their Adam's apples as a sign that the evening had drawn to its conclusion. Afterward, the evening began to assume a frivolous character. Anna Scriblerovna left the room, and the gentleman archecdysiast Dernyatin sounded forth on the theme of "women and flowers." On occasion, some of the guests would stay overnight. Then, several drawers would be slid together and they would serve as a bed for Mulenos the Second. Professor Dumkopf would sleep in the dining room on the grand piano, and the gentleman Dernyatin got in bed with the Gibberundum maid, Masha. But on most occasions, the guests left for their own houses. Platon Ilyich locked the doors behind them himself and went off to Anna Scriblerovna's. On the river Fierstream, the Nikitinsky fishermen could be heard floating down, singing their songs. And the family Gibberundum would fall asleep to the songs of the boatmen.
III
Platon Ilyich Gibberundum became stuck in the doorway of his dining room. He sunk his elbows into the doorframes, his feet became rooted in the wooden threshold, he rolled out his eyes, and he stood there, frozen.
[1929–30]
The Saber
§1
Life is divided into working time and non-working time. Non-working time creates structures — pipes. Working time fills these pipes.
Work in the form of wind flies into a bass pipe. The pipe sings in a lazy voice. We listen to the wailing of the pipes. And our bodies suddenly grow light and stream into a beautiful wind; we suddenly become a reflection of ourselves: to the right a little hand, to the left a little hand, to the right a little foot, to the left a little foot; our sides and ears and eyes and shoulders are our boundaries with the rest. Just as rhymes do, our edges shimmer like a steel blade.
§2
Non-working time is an empty pipe. In our non-working time, we lie on the couch, smoke and drink a lot, visit friends, talk a lot, apologize before each other. We justify our actions, separating them, as it were, from everything else, and say that we are right to exist independently. That is when it begins to seem to us that we possess everything that is outside of us. And everything that exists outside of ourselves and is separate from us and from everything else, distinguishable from us and from its (that of which we are now speaking) environment (even if only filled with empty air), we term the object. The object is set apart by us as an independent world and begins to possess everything that lies outside it, just as we possess all the same.
Independently existing objects are no longer bound by the laws of logical sets and they bound about in space wherever they will, at will, just as we. Nouns give birth to verbs and bestow onto verbs independent choice. Objects, in the wake of nouns, complete various actions, as free as the new verb. New qualities arise, and in their wake also free adjectives. In this way develops a new generation of parts of speech. Speech, liberated from logic's course, runs along novel paths, disarticulated from other kinds of speech. The edges of speech shine a bit brighter, so that we are able to see where is the end and where the beginning, otherwise we would become entirely lost. These edges, these breezes, fly into the empty verse-pipe. The pipe begins to hum and we hear the rhyme.
§3
Yeah! verses have outpaced us
We are unfree just like the verse
. In pipes' winds harmony is heard,
We are weakened and made terse.
Where are the limits of our torsos,
Where are our shimmering flanks?
We are hazy just like tulle,
We are helpless as a rule.
Words and speeches on the wind,
And objects galloping after them,
And we are fighting in the breach —
Glory be, we scream, to victories!
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Russian Absurd by Daniil Kharms, Alex Cigale. Copyright © 2017 Northwestern University Press. Excerpted by permission of Northwestern University Press.
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Table of Contents
SELECTED PROSE:
- The Early Years (1928-1933)
- The Middle Years (1934-1938)
- The Late Years (1939-1941)
- Selected Poems (1927-1939)
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