On the day of the 125th anniversary of Alexander Vertinsky “Times” selected 20 famous singer honest statements about what to be a poet, artist and Russian Piero XX century.
In our world of bohemia each harbored something, some hopes, ambitions, unfulfilled desire, each was harsh in his judgment, flaunted contrived originality of views and intransigence critical assessments.
Once in the theater came journalist seems Sergey Yablonovskii of “Russian Word” – the biggest newspapers of the time – and wrote a review about our theater. Can not say that it was a laudatory – critic of all scold, just me put it this way: “a witty and cutesy Alexander Vertinsky.” That was enough for me, “his nose” and that all our actors hate me instantly.
Cocaine was the bane of our youth. They are addicted to many. Actors wore in his waistcoat pocket bubbles and “charges” before each going on stage. Actress wore cocaine in powder compacts. Poets, artists occasionally and snuff, borrowed from others, because in his cocaine often do not have the money.
Whenever leaving the scene, I’m worried and say to myself – And if today I tempered applause – ran out? Suddenly I got all deserved more … and do not get any cotton? Maybe that’s why – I’m so worried before each performance …
Each, of course, its strangeness. I have four of them. I hate: sit in a movie, listen to the radio, waiting for the train and give interviews. From these things I razmarivaet sleep.
My genre is not all clear. But it is understandable to those who have suffered a lot, experienced a lot of loss and emotional tragedies, who finally survived the horrors of wandering, the torment of the narrow streets of the city, who knew the dead spiritually dens people who were exposed to anesthesia and who knew calm zastyloy “comfortable life” …
How much time we spend on so-called love, to fight for their existence, on a desire to achieve some success, something to advance, draw attention to themselves and others!
Unheated theater with half-frozen spectators resemble wax museum, which I am instructed to melt the “verb” of his “polupriznannogo” art and turn into humans.
I had a dog. It was a white beauty – the only boxer with a brown spot in the “monocle” around his right eye. Her name was Dolly. She was generally calm nature, and when we came to her in a cafe and sat at a table right on the street, she naturally jumped on a chair and sat, casting the audience dignified look.
In the movie, as in any type of art, you need perfection. Subtlest and most profound sense of proportion.
I waited until Chaplin pour wine, and when, drained his glass, he was going koknut it on the floor, I held his hand. “Charlie – I asked – why do you beat the glasses?” He was terribly embarrassed. “I was told that this Russian habit – each glass break,” – he replied. “If she and the” Russian “- I said – that, in any case, a bad habit. And in a society it is not accepted. As it is set and the second Napoleonic not even in museums. “
What was important and necessary to yesterday, today is ridiculous and incomprehensible. 15 years ago from Europe in the autumn swallows flying to warmer climates. The sudden change in the weather – storm, frost and snow – stopped in their flight path. In Bucharest, Budapest and Vienna, they fall prostrate on the squares and streets. And then compassionate people and their government ordered to collect swallows warm and then enclosed in special planes sent them to Italy, to the sun and heat.
We do not need praise and do not curse. I imagine our life as a great theatrical Personnel board. If you like anything in us, come and silently hang on a nail zhetonchik. If not – do not do it. Admire, thank and lick us do not! It spoils us and irritates the smartest of us.
Poems should be interesting in content, happy in feeling, clever and unexpected turns of phrase in the sense of, fresh paints, and, above all, they must be fit to each, ie each, try them on, to be sure they were written about him and about him.
The more a person lives, the clearer it becomes to him the trap into which he fell, having imprudence born!
With intense work (above the rate!) At sverhdozvolennoy medicine expenditure of effort, I get the dubious pleasure of pleasure viewers or listeners who listen passing some naive nonsense about the “beautiful feelings” and dispersed, under the guise of shaking their heads and smiling good-naturedly – have the same supposedly still such cranks! – To begin again to his Primus string bags and talking, envious, spiteful and petty.
Is not it time already recognize? Is it time to have to reckon with the immense love of the people to me, that, in fact, keeps me as a float on the surface and does not drown?
Life as it is not. There are only a vast living space, on which you can embroider as on an infinite canvas roll, whatever you like.
Oh, I am the master of all trades! <…> I write songs, I write them myself music, sing them himself, and besides, shockingly bad play billiards and skillfully stroked starch linen …
So, all is well. And the room is decent and the bed did. And drink brandy, and an interesting book at hand … Just cold … cold feet, freezes the soul – freezes “art”, which I am a “sower.”