word faces
by Douglas Messerli
Gennady Aygi, Child-and-Rose,
trans. from the Russian by Peter France, with a preface by Bei Dao (New York:
New Directions, 2003)
On the book
cover of this collection by the noted Russian poet, the book is touted by
Jacques Roubaud, Roman Jakobsen, Fanny Howe, Paul Barker (writing in the London
Times), and Michael Palmer—all writers I highly respect. The preface by the
renowned Chinese poet Bei Dao proclaims what a wonderful human being Aygi is,
and suggests that, along with Pasternak (a friend of Aygi's) and Mandel'shtam,
Aygi is one of the greatest of Russian poets. Just as
If all that weren't enough, the book
begins with a short foreword by Aygi himself in which he describes most of the
book we are about to read as being a joyful celebration of the birth of his
daughter. With five sons, he had long looked forward to the birth of a
daughter, particularly having grown up in a culture where most of the men had
died in World War II, and women were the bond between families, creating a kind
of "sacred" femininity." I had recently finished a review of
Charles Bernstein, praising him for employing the language of his children and
that of others in his poetry, and here was a writer arguing not only for a
poetry expressing the childhood experience, but a "respect for
children" and childhood, a love for the child in all of us.
It would seem that one would have to be
particularly ornery—perhaps even malicious—not to love the poetry of such a
man!
I'm as sentimental as anyone. I almost
always cry at the swell of the orchestra and the rise of movie credits, even if
the movie has been completely empty-headed. Perhaps that's why I recognize
sentimentality so well; and this book suffers from it. A substantial number of
the poems here represented seem particularly trivial, focused as they are on
his beloved baby. It is not that they are uninteresting—I love children and
enjoy their parents' observations about them—but Child-and-Rose is a bit like
being subjected to too many baby pictures. Aygi's daughter's
"gurgles" "show forth / the clarity of the treasure 'my quiet
god.'" The father feels a "heaviness" as the child falls to
sleep. The baby's "a-a-of-lullaby" again "shows forth"
"with clear-simple-shining / …(in firstguessing / like
firstcreation)." The poet's world, we are told, contains, "you
know-[only] you," the child. And a part of one poem is made up,
presumably, of the baby's attempt at language:
Bwol bzilda
grad
ei
tselestine
bzilda and
grad
obei verty
I actually
find that more interesting than some of the other conceits.
However, it is not just the focus on
child and father that creates, at times, frustration, but the many pauses,
dashes, colons, word combinations and other visual devices that accompany such
concentrated subject matter. Normally, these devices would delight simply
because of the complexity of the text. And at first reading there appears to be
a kind of Celan-like quality to Aygi's "father-wandering,"
"First-circle," "fresh-and-new-bound,"
"common-shining." The "mother-come-again,"
"birchcherry," "falsely-adult-clearsighted" images create a
kind of "Word-face," that brings an easy resonance to otherwise quite
transparent passages. But in the end, I fear, it is a kind of "face,"
with none of the dark "breathturns" of Celan's painfully wrought
compositions. Dare I suggest that Aygi's writing—at least in this book—is a bit
like e.e. cummings's poems: superficially experimental, but actually quite
straight-forward, even mawkish?
Having said all that, there is no doubt
that this likeable poet is, at times, also quite brilliant. Particularly in
poems where his focus is broader, the pauses and shiftings of thought create a
linguistic sensuality and narrative wonderment, as in "Song from the Days
of Your Forefather (Variation on the Theme of a Chuvash Folk-song),"
"Little Tatar Song," "Story of the Level-crossing Gate and the
Crossing Keeper's Cabin," "Story of Harlequin Grown Old," "Chuvash
Song for a Girl Your Age," "Little Song for You—About Your
Father," "Now There Are Always Snows," "Again: Appearance
of a Bluetit," "My Daughter's Autumn Walk," and "Drawing
Long Ago." Even from the titles of these poems, one can perceive that, at least
to my way of thinking, Aygi is on the most solid ground when he immerses
himself in the landscape and culture of his homeland. And in conveying that
world, Aygi is a true master. Can there be any poem that more clearly portrays
a world that, although infused with human spirituality, is equally at the whim
of nature as in "Now There Are Always Snows"?
Like snow
the Lord that is
and is what
is the snows
when the
soul is what is
the snows
the soul the light
and all is
only this
that those
like death that is
that like
them too it is
confess that
it is so
among light
darkness is
when once
again the snows
Oh-God-Again-the-Snows
how can it
be it is
and is not
to be checked
as corpses
are and not
oh
Deathmask-Land that is
no question
that it is
then when
the People verb
which
signifies is not
…………..
it is as is
an not
and only by
this is
but is what
only is
miracle
sudden swirl
there is no
Deadness-Land
oh God again
the snows
the souls
the snows the light
Oh God again
the snows
but be there
there are none
the snows my
friend the snows
the soul the
light the snow
oh God again
the snows
and snow
that is there is
—Los
Angeles, 2003
Reprinted from The New Review of Literature I, no. 2 (April 2003)
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