Аçтахар Плотников14.01.2007 01:064161 хут пӑхнӑ
"Then i find it kinda funny
I find it kinda sad
The dreams in which i'm dying
Are the best i've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It's a very very
Mad world, mad world"
Obviously, inspiration enters through the backdoor of our imagination and suddenly erupts when a close encounter in form of something greater than us, or believed to be so - as Bible for example. I have never heard of anything greater than It. But born to a Soviet working-class family in turmoiled 80's Bible ended its exisence for me when I was christened on a sunny day in a golden-domed Orthodox church by a frenzy, mad priest with a long grayblue beard as it seemed then. I've only had contempt, internal resentment, non-acceptance of Orthodox Christianity. My war-like disposition failed though as I matured and opened my mind even for this institution of faith. Not ever being a follower. The church now gray domed, plaster cracking off XIX century red brick has its own decaying appeal of something left in past and mysterious.
I still haven't read a page of Bible yet - a kind of homo-soveticus ingorance. But strong self-analysis of own background, childhood impression created what I am trying to become entitled "Madeinchuvashia".
Even if Chuvash literature not really important worldly, its sublime inspiration raised my artistic ego.
When I say close encounter I mean something mysterious, unfamiliar, grand. I have read so little of Chuvash Literature as a child. But it is then that its whole supposed image built up in my memory. And I am its child and my creativity is luke-warmed but its sadly cheerful philosophy of isolation, fatality.
It re-entered me few years ago when I was familiarized with Gothic view. A movement I have never been a part of, but affecting me like never before. Its importance is tremendous now when I discover my roots and let the genetic asthetics glow around my creative ego.
There could have never invented a perfecter door into chuvash artistic soul than the famous poem Narspi by Konstantin Ivanov. (http://chuvash.org/e/d09dd0b0d180d181d0bfd0b82028d0bfd0bed18dd0bcd0b029) I'm not quite sure people view it correctly, it is given unnessessary prominence. It is when people believe it great without reading it. When I first read it I was fascinated by its brutal vivid depiction of clear emotions oppressed in a society degrading. It is about deep-rooted attitudes of my native people to death, suicide, love, celebration, common sense. Colorful and tasteful, powerful it stands out. There nothing like reading it in Chuvash. The Chuvash Language is a DNA of my folks. Somehow I am a different person when think in Chuvash. And I am a different person when I incorporate Chuvash thinking with English.
There's nothing so chuvash-literature as school-teachers trying to make every student a poet. Well, an intention so benevolent, but also so mediocre. There's still so very few Chuvash poets. A luminous example of Chuvash poetic creativity is, of course Aygi. Breathing out his name alone is nothing but inspiration. His wording is so amazingly beautiful in Chuvash. And it's still genetically Chuvash.
My "career" as a Chuvash poet stopped as I failed to impress my teacher by my authentic melancholic verses. However, I think I never quit thinking about it. And here's perfect time to regain it.
The song opening the door this time is "Mad World" remade by Michael Andrews.
I am gonna carefully analyze and translate most inspiring lyrics in a new blog.