Leonid Martynov Biography briefly

Apparently, Leonid Martynov is not on the way with us. Our paths can disperse forever. She bowed her head to one side, slipped her hand, her face gave her unusually mournful and sad expression, so that no director would achieve that degree of naturalness and that plasticity in the figure of a mourning woman in the black, sitting on her husband’s grave. Subsequently, it happened to me to show this photo to the poet Leonid Martynov.

The hair seemed to stir on his head from excitement and delight. I’m talking about this so right because there is no drops of my merit as a person who clicked the camera shutter, but the main, only merit belongs to the aunt field. I remember the quatrain read at the evening: “And casually abandoned me by the snake: everyone has his own fate! The most roads to the modern reader are only that of them who, in his translations, tries not to obscure his personality either Heine, Ronsar, or Rilke.

The poet Leonid Martynov does not want to agree with this. It seems to him offensive the very thought that he should curb his personal addictions and tastes. Turn into transparent glass? Turning to those whom he still translated so hard and carefully, L. Martynov now declares them proudly and this is true, the brothers foreigners: although I listen to your voices, but to bend, like a lady in a dance, as in Dana Macabra or Counterdance, to transmit the subtlest nuances of the Middle Ages or Renaissance - I can’t succeed in it, I can not, I can not, I can, I exist myself!

So it was still. In all his translations, Dah Martynov, according to his integrity, sought to reproduce the most accurately all the images, feelings and thoughts of Pethefi. Now another time has come, and Martynov unexpectedly notifies readers that if he happens to translate, say, Hamlet, this “Hamlet” will not be so much Shakespearean as Martynovsky, since he considers it humiliating to bend in front of Shakespeare, “like a lady in a dance, as in a dance makabr or counterdance”.

Everyone was completely satisfied with his former translations, in which he so well conveyed the poetic charm of the original. It is precisely such translations that our era requires, putting above all the documentary, accuracy, reliability, reality. And then it will be found that, despite all efforts, the translator nevertheless reflected himself in translation - he can be justified only if this happened unconsciously.

And since the main nature of the human personality affects not only the conscious, but also in its unconscious manifestations, then, in addition to the will of the translator, his personality will be quite expressed. Taking care of this is too. Let it take care only about the exact and objective reproduction of the original. By this, he will not only cause any damage to his creative person, but, on the contrary, will show it with the greatest force.

So Leonid Martynov has come to this day. In general, for some reason, I feel that all this riot against Dans-Makabrov and the “counterdans” is a minute quirk of the poet, an instant outbreak, a whim, which, I hope, will not affect his further translation work. There was a long-long sleep, with metamorphoses, with conversations about dialectisms in thin.

Honestly, all this was before waking up! I only wrote down immediately. And now I think: and this cleaner is not Leonid Martynov? Something, it seems to me, looks like him: a kind of meaningfulness and circulation of pah, damn! When I read it for morning coffee and began to brag about now, they say, my poems were drowned in a dream! This old man and we are talking here about the repeat of the tautological, although individual semantic “beams” of meanings have already dispersed so far here that the words expressing them are perceived as homonyms.

So, already in the first stanza three times the word "side" is found, and in the same case. However, in fact, all three times this word carries a different load, syntactic and semantic. However, upon careful consideration, it turns out that the semantics of the word in the first and third cases are also not identical: it is clear that the introductory phrase “on the one hand” is not equivalent to the circumstances of the scene “you will look closely on the other side”.

There was a stuffy August evening, and he walked through the lights and people, not mixing with them, with his special strange galloping gait, as if he was in a state of inner weightlessness, and only invisible lead plates nailed to the soles did not allow him to fly over trolley buses and roofs. He had a huge watermelon under his arm, and Martynov crunched a scarlet triangle, taken out of the window, where thick seeds were blackened into the sugar -sagging pulp.

Faced with me, Martynov was not surprised, but immediately, on the move, confusedly spoke about the displacement of air currents, about disharmony inside the atmosphere, obviously continuing his monologue, before that turned only to himself. In the Moscow crowd, this man was unusually similar to Daedalus, which fell in the twentieth century.The rubleness of the Martynovsky line is not accidental, unlike many poems, who are easy to suspect in material indifference to the "ladder".

Sometimes Martynov’s words sound as if they were born ruined, and were not cleverly depreciated. Martynov’s best verses are characterized by a metaphorical condensation, the tangible density of the texture. In the first copyright version, she sounded like this: "And in general we are enemies." The option that is part of Martynov’s works was proposed by the author of Margarita Aliger, who edited the poetic department of the Almanac “Literary Moscow”.

Martynov agreed, because the proposed edit did not proceed out of tyranny or cowardice, but from his own “Martynov style”. A rare case in our editing. Of the elders, I distinguished Tarkovsky. She praised Lipkina. Above all, she put Joseph Brodsky, to whom such recognition, apparently, helped to develop a high self-esteem, so necessary for his poetic personality. At that time, Leonid Martynov occupied the vacancy of the first poet in the eyes of many.

She once responded about him: "A well-thought-out mania of persecution." And, it seems, on his own occasion, that it is harmful to the poet often to be printed, because he loses independence. Martynovsky circle, however, did not read Anna Andreevna. Agnes Kun once reproached me for wearing a train Akhmatova. He was the author of curious historical poems with a remarkable system of verse, the independence of intonation, the original course of a poetic narrative.

He undoubtedly began as a highly -melting, promising poet. The books "Ercinsky Forest" and "Lukomorye" confirmed this reputation. Martynov entered at the time of his glory with a halo of undeserved suffering. His poetic and human appearance impressed the readers. A short time in the eyes of readers and poets Martynov was the first Russian poet. In essence, his poetry was deeply conformist.

He affirmed personal decency instead of civic valor. Rising higher in cosmic heights, he replaced the concept of social progress with the concept of evolution of life forms. With his cosmism, he acquired poetry with the fame of philosophical. In fact, the philosophy of Martynov turned out to be a philosophy of surrender before the gross power of power, the departure from genuine problems.

Hiding behind the well -developed intonation, Martynov expressed only the “well -thought -out mania of persecution” by Akhmatova’s words, slipping the reader with the sedative philosophy of abstract progress. Martynov’s personality was broken by the fear of the previous era, he could not become a teacher of life. After the war, he was not published for several years, as if he had already stopped writing.

Or maybe it was? His former books were hard to get. Not everyone knew him, not everyone saw him. But those who read could not but amaze his unusualness. So, he wrote all this time ... A book is published in the “Young Guard”. Then this did not happen to him alone. Something similar happened with Zabolotsky. Martynov accepted hotly, joyfully. He immediately plunged into a literary life, he was elected to the Bureau of the Section of Poets, he began to perform in the evenings.

The manner of speaking and reading was nervous, sharp. A tall, with a proudly thrown red -haired head, he looked somewhat detached. He seemed to know anyone and does not notice. He was then fifty years old. The Guardian of Fire, the Hermit of the twentieth century, far from Litseta, he retired to his large -block cave, surrounded by collections of ancient stones and folios.

Time defended in it. He himself looked like a gray -haired, weathered boulder, he closed his eyes and spent hours in the corner of a wiped historical sofa. He write only one “Lukomorye” or “passerby”, he would then be a poet of the highest Parnassus test. He replied that he could not, but then, by chance reading the poet’s line for himself in the literal and figurative sense, he agreed.

An incomplete poem that excited Martynov by external illogstvity, the lack of old speech of speech, inaccuracy consonant and especially underlessness, that is, all that is characteristic of poetry of the second half of the twentieth century, ended with a multi -year: the sky is slightly visible, the wind is rustling. It’s a shame to the sun ... It is the offended sun, on which, if you look closely, in the morning the uneven clusters of Pushkin’s points are blackened, and in the evenings the silhouette of the shark mountain and the summer area with the traditional name of Pushkino appear, it is quite possible to cover the Russian literature of the third millennium.