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A Book About Happiness

by Dmitri Aleksandrovich Prigov, translated by Isak Saaf

Consisting of poems and dialogues.

by Dmitri Aleksandrovich Prigov | translated by Isak Saaf | Parallax | Spring 2018

Drawings by Julia Friend

Consisting of poems and dialogues.


TRANSLATOR’S NOTE 

I found Prigov accidentally. A video clip with that appealing VHS quality, in which he recited an alliterative poem at a level of Russian beyond my own. I toyed with the idea of translating him, and in the process began to appreciate his printed poetry, his art exhibitions, his enormous character. He told absurd jokes about the atrocities of Russian and American history without ever growing sentimental or ideological, a pitfall even for the best of the Russian poets. He follows in the Russian tradition of absurdism, if the absurd can be called traditional. 

Although his topics are often political, it would be a disservice to call Prigov simply a dissident—his writing is usually too arcane to be clearly read as criticism. He brings the mysticism of Soviet hero worship to the fore and makes us confront it, bends it into something closer to real forms of power. His poetry is the pure absurdist admission that life is at best a place where we dance around meaningtly encounter it. The politics of his work will never touch my pulse as closely as they might for those who knew Soviet power, but his broad sense of the absurd and of the mystical or essential nature of power is still familiar. At least I hope it is. 

Prigov was born in 1940, just before the Great Patriotic War, and died in 2007. His work was not officially printed in the Soviet Union until 1986, although it was circulated abroad and in Samizdat. This particular cycle of poems dates to 1985, one of the 36,000 that he claimed to have written before the millenium. 

The translation came easily. His language is simple and straightforward. Many of the dialogues are riffs on famous phrases by the authors with whom he speaks, and I’ve done my best to render them into simple English that would slander neither Pushkin nor Prigov. Naturally, I hope that the chaos and mystery remains.


NOTICE:
This book was born from a love for Dialogues, Poems, and—naturally, naturally—for happiness.

There is no happiness in life
But there is peace and will
There is no will in life
But there are certain inevitabilities
Nothing in life is inevitable
Save severity and humility
There is no humility in life
Save to be thankful and to rejoice
And to be thankful
And to be thankful
And to rejoice, and to rejoice, rejoice 
                 And to be thankful, to be thankful, thankful 
                                 And to rejoice.


Dialogue #1

Dostoevsky: What is happiness? 
Prigov: What is happiness? 
Dostoevsky: To take a child! 
Prigov: To take a child! 
Dostoevsky: An infant! 
Prigov: An infant! 
Dostoevsky: To take a drop of his blood! 
Prigov: A drop of blood! 
Dostoevsky: A drop of blood! 
Prigov: A droplet! 
Dostoevsky: What is a drop of blood? 
Prigov: What’s a drop of blood? 
Dostoevsky: What are you saying—blood? 
Prigov: What am I saying—blood? 
Dostoevsky: Really—blood? 
Prigov: Blood! 
Dostoevsky: What does blood mean to you? 
Prigov: What does blood mean? 
Dostoevsky: It doesn’t mean anything! 
Prigov: It doesn’t mean anything! 
Dostoevsky: That’s all, then!


There’s some flowers, and a trough 
There’s a rocking chair. There’s something buried. 
Something 
Probably a corpse— 
This is how the porch looks. 


There’s some air, and a little water 
There’s a brother. There’s a sister. 
And there the earth is folded over. 
Probably something buried 
Probably a corpse 


There’s a field, and a forest 
There’s the edge of heaven 
There’s a village, let’s just say, forgettable 
And a little closer the earth 
Is bursting out 
Where the corpse, probably, tried to climb.


There is no truth in life 
But there is understanding and reason 
There is no reason in life 
But there is logic and sobriety 
There is no sobriety in life 
But there is choice 
There is no choice in life 
Save to forgive and to rejoice 
And to rejoice, rejoice, rejoice 
And rejoice, and rejoice 
And rejoice 
And to forgive 
And to rejoice 


In life, there is no love 
But there is tenderness and friendship 
There is no friendship in life 
But there is lust and desire 
There is no desire in life 
Save to dissipate and to rejoice 
And to dissipate, and dissipate 
And to dissipate, and dissipate 
And dissipate 
And to weep! To weep, to weep! 
And weep again! And weep and weep! 
And to rejoice and rejoice and rejoice! 
And to dissipate! 


There’s the kitchen, and the bathtub 
Which kitchen? And which bathtub? 
Just a kitchen. Just a bathtub 
And what smells so strange, underneath the bathtub? 
Probably a corpse, growing stale. 


There’s a man, right fucking there, and his fucking grandmother 
There’s power, right fucking there, and fucking glory 
That’s all there fucking is 
I don’t see a fucking thing 
Except— 
A corpse, probably


Dialogue #2

Stalin: There is no happiness in life! 
Prigov: But Dostoevsky said…. 
Stalin: What did Dostoevsky say? 
Prigov: Something about an infant’s blood. 
Stalin: And what is Dostoevsky? 


Prigov: What is Dostoevsky? 
Stalin: He is ten letters! 
Prigov: Ten letters! 
Stalin: And what happens if we take one away? 
Prigov: What then? 
Stalin: Then he’s Ostoevsky! 
Prigov: Ostoevsky! 
Stalin: And what if we take another three? 
Prigov: What then? 
Stalin: Then he’s Oevsky! 
Prigov: Oevsky! 
Stalin: And what if we take another three? 
Prigov: What then? 
Stalin: Then he’s Sky! 
Prigov: Sky! 
Stalin: And another two? 
Prigov: Another two! 
Stalin: Then he’s Y! 
Prigov: Y! 
Stalin: And another? 
Prigov: Another? 
Stalin: There is nothing! 
Prigov: There is nothing! 
Stalin: There is nothing! 
Prigov: There is nothing! 
Stalin: And no droplets of blood. 


There is no glory in life 
But there are connections and acquaintances 
There are no connections in life 
But there is thirst and freedom 
There is no freedom in life 
Except to choose purely 
How purely! 
Lord! 
How pure! How pure! 
And pure! And pure! 
Lord! How pure! 
How pure! 
Lord! How pure how pure! 
How pure it is to choose 


There is no childhood in life 
But there is school and youth 
There is no youth in life 
But there is maturity and age 
There is no age in life 
But there is eternity and bliss 
Eternal bliss! 
And eternity, eternity and eternity 
And bliss, and eternity 
Eternity, eternity! 
And bliss! 


A town—no larger than a shed 
Dim and quiet as the dead 
Pale and wretched 
By snow—tormented 
All in chaos 
As Buddha crouches 
Snow begins to lay 
Like a cat watching its prey 
Attentively 



Here is the stage, the curtainous layers 
Here is the play, and here are the players 
Aristocrats— 
How lovely! 
Here’s Uncle Vanya, Ranevskaya and Lopakhin 
And the stink of something 
A corpse, probably 
(Boris Godunov’s) 

There is Pushkin, there’s Dostoevsky 
There’s Gorky, and there’s Mayakovsky 
There is Caesar, and there’s Chapaev 
And there’s Prigov—what’s he digging for? 
A corpse 
probably 
ours. 
Collectively.


Dialogue #3

Pushkin: There is no happiness in life!
Prigov: Well, what is there?
Pushkin: There is peace and will!
Prigov: What about the infant?
Pushkin: What infant?
Prigov: Just an infant!
Pushkin: He has his own will!
Prigov: And what about the drop of blood?
Pushkin: Whose blood?
Prigov: His blood!
Pushkin: It has its own will!
Prigov: And what about the dagger?
Pushkin: It has its own will!
Prigov: Then what am I to do?
Pushkin: You have your own will!
Prigov: And if I don’t want it?! I don’t, I don’t!
Pushkin: Then there is peace!
Prigov: And if I have no peace?!
Pushkin: Then that is your will!



The wind a silvered sheet
That twists and hides us
That flies along the street
And lands beside us
And bumps into me
And grows embarrassed
I look at her
And at the street
And life, like a Buddha
Of extraordinary age.

Image by Hannah Sandoz

Dialogue #4

Stalin: There is no happiness in life!
Prigov: Pushkin already said that!
Stalin: And what else did Pushkin say?
Prigov: There, there is peace and will!
Stalin: Will?
Prigov: Will!
Stalin: And just what is this Pushkin?
Prigov: What?
Stalin: He is seven letters!
Prigov: Seven letters!
Stalin: And what if we take one away?
Prigov: What then?
Stalin: Then he’s Ushkin!
Prigov: Then he’s Ushkin!
Stalin: And what if we take another?
Prigov: What then?
Stalin: Then he’s Shkin!
Prigov: Then he’s Shkin!
Stalin: And if we take another?
Prigov: Another?
Stalin: Then he’s Hkin!
Prigov: Then he’s Hkin!
Stalin: And if we take another?
Prigov: Another?
Stalin: Then he’s Kin!
Prigov: Kin!
Stalin: And another?
Prigov: Another?
Stalin: Then he’s In!
Prigov: In!
Stalin: Another!
Prigov: Another!
Stalin: He’s N!
Prigov: N! 
Stalin: And another letter?
Prigov: Another letter?
Stalin: There is nothing!
Prigov: There is nothing!
Stalin: There is nothing!
Prigov: There is nothing!
Stalin: And no will!


There is no life in the world 
But there is something like it 
There’s nothing like that in the world 
But there is something else 
There is nothing else in the world 
But there is something like that 
Like that! 
Like that! 
O! 
Lord! Yes! 
Like that like that like that like that! 
God! 
Like that! 



There is ownership, and economics 
There is efficiency, and Reaganomics 
There is the Dollar, and the Ruble 
And there, buried, is some sort of corpse 
Ownerless 


Three is glorious valor, and revelry 
And a garden that is shining 
There are grinding tanks, there, cloak and dagger 
But something is buried here— 
A corpse, probably 



This city is Moscow—the capital 
This is London, and this—Sevastopol 
This is the South, and the North 
And this is a corpse 
Still unburied 


In Life—There is no death 
Only rape and murder! 
There is no murder in life 
But there is parting and oblivion 
There is no oblivion in life 
But there is metapsychosis and memory 
Memory! Memory! Me-ee-mmory! 
Mee-mmm-oory! Memmmmory! 
And murder, and memory-memory 
Memory! 
Eternal Me-eeee-mmmory! 
Of HIM! 
AMEN! 


There is shit, there is phlegm 
There is crap, there is vomit 
There is a thick nest of filth 
But there is still a sliver of light!— 


A corpse, probably 
Here is a coffin, and a corpse 
Here is corpse, and a coffin 
Well, then what’s at the funeral? 
They’re burying everything else. 


Dialogue #5

Stalin: There is no happiness in life! 
Prigov: No happiness! 
Stalin: What is there, then? 
Prigov: What is there? 
Stalin: There is Stalin! 
Prigov: There is Stalin! 
Stalin: And what is Stalin? 
Prigov: What is he? 
Stalin: Stalin is our glory in battle! 
Prigov: Glory in battle! 
Stalin: Stalin is our fleeting youth! 
Prigov: Fleeting youth! 
Stalin: Going to war with a song, he is victorious! 
Prigov: Victorious! 
Stalin: The people are for Stalin! 
Prigov: For Stalin! 
Stalin: And what else is Stalin? 
Prigov: What else? 
Stalin: He is Three Great Principles! 
Prigov: Three Great Principles! 
Stalin: And what else is Stalin? 
Prigov: What else? 
Stalin: He is Five Great Thoughts! 
Prigov: Five Great Thoughts! 
Stalin: He is Six Great Letters! 
Prigov: And what if we take one away? 
Stalin: What then? 
Prigov: Then he’s Talin! 
Talin: Talin! 
Prigov: And if we take away another? 
Talin: Another? 
Prigov: Then he’s Alin! 
Alin: Alin! 
Prigov: And if we take away another? 
Alin: Another? 
Prigov: Then he’s Lin! 
Lin: Lin! 
Prigov: And another? 
Lin: Another? 
Prigov: Then he’s In! 
In: In! 
Prigov: And another? 
In: Another? 
Prigov: Then he’s N! 
N: N! 
Prigov: And another! 


There is nothing in life 
And that which there isn’t is already gone 
There’s none in the world 
And that which there is is already gone 
But there is still a little bit left 
Which means there’s something 
There is a little still in life 
Where means there’s something 
Good Lord! There’s something there 
There is, there is, there is! It’s there! 
God! It’s there! It is! It is! 
Lord, there’s something there! There is! 
It’s there, Lord! 
Lord, it’s there! 


Effeminate like Laura’s song 
Like laurel leaves, like Northern Lights 
But rushing, like the stream along 
The bank, or like Aurora’s light 
Her rays descending in a throng 
That rake up winter with their hands 
You see—around here, winter’s long 
So, so long. A winter. 
And winter, winter is so long 
A long winter 
With such frost enfrosted 
And such a winter, and such frost 
A long and frosty winter. 
A landscape. 

Image by Francesca Ott

Dialogue #6

Prigov: What is happiness?
Prigov: And what is happiness?
Prigov: And what is unhappiness?
Prigov: What is unhappiness?
Prigov: And what is the distinction?
Prigov: It is that when there is happiness, there is no unhappiness.
Prigov: And what is the similarity?
Prigov: It is that when there is unhappiness, there is still happiness.
Prigov: And what else is there?
Prigov: There is all the rest!
Prigov: And how does all that resemble all this?
Prigov: Because it is all essentially happy or unhappy!
Prigov: And how does it differ?
Prigov: In that all the rest flows out of this! Prigov: And where does it flow to?
Prigov: To ME!
Prigov: How’s that?
Prigov: Here it comes now!