I know how to weep water

In full accordance with the title, brand new book of poetry by Nina Yagodintsevoy able to enchant – and bewitch. In this book there is a nerve and rhythm, it has a deep peace and breathtaking inherent in just this same “bottom grasses”, the movement alone. It has a dominant and pervasive – but not a thought, not an idea, not an emotion, and – the element, in other words, a natural tune. Aqua element. Melody of rain and dripping, rivers and creek worrying willow crown, shock paddles, the noise of his blood in his ears. Snow and ice, boat and sail well and congestion, sleep (even more so – reality), crying, death … – all manifestations, all incarnation, all touching – mokrovatye, frisky, changeable, elusive …

Why would it? Maybe because, as the creator of blurts, “all – fortune-telling” and vorozhat, as you know, is more than the water, wine, blood yes to human tears. “All” is unmistakably inscribed in this aqua cycle. And in the sky, in other words in the air – “grains stars / dry the tears of the ocean”, and the fire is the light, “that collected by drop,” and the earth “floats on 3 pillars”, muffled splashing in our dreams “land Medova and sky – the Milky “absolutely everything in this book – flowing, flowing, swaying, melts, floats.

Here – Time: black water, the terrible water, flood premonition and chaos at the moment is capable of in a full-fledged Mige your life to connect three “aggregate states” – as the three faces severe goddess:

As if coming not snow – continent dissolves in the past,

And in the gloomy sky slowly leaves the river,

And glazed servants to spread your soles

Clouds, clouds …

Here – while huddled in a moment of everyday life, when the “gutter April // mica dries on the lips,” you look back and see around streaming, polurazmyty cityscape, slush underfoot, at the beginning – “river of fire Avenue” …

That is – love, whose beginning and first commanding gesture – there is still,

In the womb, in caressing close quarters,

What do I know about him, weary this gesture

Sleepy flesh in water depths of pearl?

Only one thing: I’m longing tone, as in bliss,

As long as life through the veins of my sails.

Love – obsessive lust and love – wasteful, breathless, and just admit lover, that “even the sky of your handfuls / drunk and sweeter.” And yet – the love of the motherland, poignant tenderness, whose signs in Russia – tears and snow mokrovaty wind, languid salt …

In Russia, you need not live by bread and not a word,

And the smell of forest – birch, pine,

Chatting with water, wander with clouds

And Rain take arms open.

But the poet “can not live by the word” can not. “Words swinging bridge” – the only way to immediately and revenue, but again a poetic word for Nina Yagodintsevoy – sail, carried away by the sea, “failures, rapids, shoals.” Hence it should be – an abundance of rhythms and stanzas, semantic variation, attention to the sound and tone, musicality many verses from time to time, to the chagrin of provoking unnecessary pretentiousness, the pursuit of prettiness to the detriment of true beauty. What to do – bear, carries the flow of words, the melodic element, the game captures the harmonies … But sometimes lyrical verses will only benefit, and, I believe, not shameful, but natural for the poet to see – later life: “Of all the lullabies baby chick- / I remember only the tides of vowels. ”

Famous city pattern, actual episodes, the mood and the weather, memoirs, hope, apprehension … The defining metaphor of the book turns and creator – in Proteus, changeable and changing creature in all the four elements of nature – the guest and companion on an equal footing:

River-runaway not think,

People cool irrigate,

Whose lips sweet styn fun,

Whose reflection blowing …

Again – a comparison with the mobility, colorless-Chromatic, vsepronitsaemostyu and integrity of water. Water – a truly life. And life is reflected in its numerous mirrors, adopts, in turn, this is complete and this inconsistency, the eternal zeal, the principle of freedom of exchange of the game:

From world to world, always meet

Another grin and tears

In blind morning quicksand evening

Another crude Bus …

O my soul, the Lord is with thee,

Not state that life has passed,

When the hand of wax

Fog wash with glass …

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