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In einer Palette von Farben, Musik und Tanz. Künstler Michael Gorban (Michael Gorban)



In der Schule mein Gott! Das Qual!
Tag - Tanzen, Haltung, Wissenschaftler ...
Steh auf, passiert ist, in den frühen Morgen,
Allein in der Halle Klavier klimpern
Singen alles auseinander, Risse in den Ohren;
Und dann sie und hob ihr Bein,
Stehen da wie ein Storch auf der Uhr.
M. Lermontov


Musik und Tanz. Zweikomponenten insgesamt. Sie können unabhängig voneinander existieren, aber zusammen bilden sie die höchste Kunst.
Musik und Tanz. Sie verursachen die Menschen einen so tiefen und vielfältigen Spektrum von Gefühlen, dass sie es unmöglich ist, gleichgültig zu sein.

"The Artist gibt Ihnen meine Seele in der Malerei." - Michael Gorban (Michael Gorban).





The Annunciation - Adriaen van de Velde


Riddle of suspended coffee .... Tonino Guerra

In one of the last visits to Moscow, giving an interview to a radio station, a prominent Italian screenwriter and poet Tonino Guerra told this story.


"When I wrote the script for De Sica? Marriage Italian ?, I came to Naples and then he invited me to a cafe. Usual cafe next to the station, the doors are open - summer, hot, and here are two people and say," Five coffee we drink now two, and three are suspended in the air. "go to pay, pay for five coffee, drink my two and go, I ask De Sik, it is suspended for a coffee? he says? Wait ?. Then includes people girls drink their coffee and pay normally includes three lawyers bought seven coffee:? we drink three, and four suspended ?, pay for seven, drink and go, and the young man ordered two coffees, one coffee drinks, pays for two and goes so we De Sica dosidela talking until noon, the doors were opened, I looked at this sun-drenched area, and suddenly I saw some dark shadow approaching the door, already at the door of the bar saw that it was a poor man, he looks into the cafe and asked:? There hung a coffee? "
This story touched me to tears just can weep with tenderness. It's kind of charity that came from Naples, left there so not only coffee, but also food.


It is hard to imagine in our country. A pity, beautiful custom.
 Life is full of unwritten laws, everyone is trying to solve them. And inspiration can come to man even out of the mud. I know it is very difficult to come to life to what really brings joy. To do this, you need to work hard. "


Poet Roberto Roversi called Tonino Guerra - the only Italian writer, giving hear the noise of falling leaves. In the view of Tonino Guerra does not need. Since 1950 he has worked on screenplays in collaboration with the greatest directors of the XX century, including Federico Fellini and Francesco Rossi, Andrei Tarkovsky and Michelangelo Antonioni. However, anyone familiar with Guerra, remember this is not so much as a word poetry: it is as a poet, storyteller, creator of metaphors, it is appreciated and loved. ? Poetry - his world, a way of life ?, - wrote about him Tarkovsky. Behind those words unique image of a wonderful poet, who has yet to discover the majority of the Russian admirers Guerra.


World, the fictional Tonino Guerra, fits in his tiny office in a little house on the hill in a small Italian village of Pennabilli. The window opens to a wide horizon, the entire area of Montefeltro, the entire Romagna, the whole of Italy, Europe, all oecumene. The whole world he covers his consciousness, thought, imagination - the whole world in space and time. His Life - Weekday provincial Italian from somewhere in the Renaissance, which, as it was made, writes in a dialect of its small area, in Renaissance paradoxical in the simplicity of their judgments, and subjugates them with the help of the whole world. Consciousness expands, becomes comprehensive in its openness, candor, and here:

My house is so high,
I heard coughing Lord.


View from the balcony

The same extension occurs with time. His poetry, with repetitions and returns to old themes, covers a decades - from the first verse, written in a German concentration camp and see the light in 1946, to today's world-wide fame, numerous prestigious literary prizes and translations in all languages ??of the world. Tonino Guerra never wrote and did not like to talk about the camp, which has become one of the most powerful emotional experiences of his life. He believes that all said, one poem, called "Butterfly":

Satisfied, happy, glad
I've been many times. But most of all -
When I was released from the camp,
and I could see a butterfly
without wanting to eat it.

Guerra nothing could break. Coming into the world a good man, he carefully preserved in yourself is a rare quality to the end of his days.


"He always has the characters, we are all the characters, we are in his stories." Simple things of life that surround it, are signs of life for him, unobtrusive signs of authenticity existence. They are butterflies hovering bird spiders spinning their network; Figures and states of love. At the world around Guerra reacts word, words, pronouncing them. What I do, I feel like I live? This immediacy and simplicity of reality, without embellishment and posturing, without bombast and glamor. With honesty with oneself. In his ingenuous born metaphors no frills complex stretched allegory. Seemingly simple, understandable words, he writes about what is true and what is not true, and suddenly out - meaning the volume is born and it turns out that it was said much more than that from such simple words could have been expected. In this - a genuine talent Guerra:

early in the morning
in a woolen hat pulled down over his ears,
I look out the window
to the heart of the fog,
where bird crying because
everything has disappeared.


Reading his text, I want to laugh, to cry, to live, to feel the difference vita activa and vita contemplativa, in what is, in fact, is the experience of the state of life, living life, carrying us to - then to Dante's stars.


Excerpts from the book Tonino Guerra. "Seven notebooks life"

To tell you what this book is, and, most importantly, what is its uniqueness, I want to remember the Australian Aborigines. The fact that these called primitive peoples space is divided not into the four cardinal points and seven: north, south, west, east, up, down and inward. It seems that the best metaphor to describe the book is not found. Here there are diaries, and stories and poems written by Tonino, as well as the memories of his friends.


Andrei Tarkovsky said about Tonino Guerra that "it unique character of the natural substance. Sometimes there is a strange impression that he is still not talking to people."
But it is precisely this naivety, uncertainty and ignorance for Tonino - virtuous. These are the qualities that are not old. Most likely, in the middle of the book "Seven notebooks life," you too will begin to pay attention to the beauty in simple things and rediscover familiar people.


To seventy years, I have admired the grand works of art, to masterpieces that created humanity. I had a lot of effort into adoration fascinate me ... Now only natural things only what nature created. Rain or snow - it is always a spectacle. And you're not a spectator, no idolater. You are part of the universe. I learned that in old age can experience great pleasure just because you touch the depth of what you see.





Once I explained the difference between the two words-see videt.Molodost looks, and age spots. When you're young, you're blinded by the world, you see the color, material. You often look but not see.
Recently in Italy, I went to the car and saw the one thing that struck me. I asked to stop the car and left. It was a simple cast-iron bench. She was abandoned and covered with moss. She was so old that it no one would sit. I saw her loneliness, I saw an old man who used to sit on it and take a look at the passing cars. These old men were long dead, and the bench was lonely. I sat on her to share her loneliness.
This is one of the pleasures of old age, to see ...
Loneliness is also the company.


When the fall of the first leaf falls, it produces a deafening noise, because with him falls the whole year ... must live where words can turn into leaves sway in the breeze or steal paint clouds. Behind our conversations should be changeable moods of the seasons, the echoes of landscapes where they occur. It is not true that the words are beyond the influence of noise and silence, which saw their birth. We speak a different language, as in the rain or sun, pouring into the language ...


It's snowing ... and I thought whiten. I would like to do nothing else. That's - that will break the tedious New Year holidays. It would be nice to spend them with ordinary people who have kept the look shy. With those whose bread in half with tears, who can talk to animals. Peace of mind and a certain clarity come to me by chance, from the inexplicable and will premonitions. Insight, full of secrets. They are far from our arrogant rationalism. It is important to bend to listen to trees or confession memory inexperienced people. More often than not I swim in? Night equilibrium of our being ?, how great someone said once ... So, we can only believe that is the rules of logic. I feel good at sunset, when the last rays of the setting sun. It seems that I am also part of this world. I'm in it roomy as drying oil spilled onto the canvas or paint with an artist's palette. Becomes easy as the smell of grass, almost like in the old days, when the hour of sunset, I was young and strong ...



I am comforted ... wooden window gray, covered barely visible remnants of white paint, which crumbled. Behind the glass - a small pot of flowers, behind which darned lace curtains. It's like a color gift for those who pass by on the street, from people living in the house who appreciate tenderness in life and endows her others.


Two days before the death of Federico Fellini said, "How do you want to fall in love again!" I was shocked! At the edge of a person wanted to relive the love, soar above the earth, to obey what anyone wants to obey, to hear the music of the orchestra in the shower ... He was not talking about the woman he wanted to say, that love - is one of the magical moments in life. When you love, you stop being a person and become a fragrance. You do not go on the ground and soar above it. Here is a state of love is important in life. And no matter what you're in love - a woman in a job, in the world or in life ... Love - is not joy and sorrow, not a reward and not a test, but all together it's a trip to the fabulous and magical land, a path to the mystery, which is to be discovered. Love always goes, everything has its end. But one state is always poured into another, and that other may be a stronger feeling than love.


There is nothing wrong perfection and nothing is sweeter than air - that, in general, light things around the head, which often becomes lighter when you're a woman smiles broadly.


If you are in town Pennabilli, around which the famous Italian lived with his wife, you would see the presence of Signor Guerra on every street. Facades are decorated with sundials, which he did, and gave residents. His paintings and carpets can be seen by friends. And here is his house, the gate of which is usually open. The garden runs a huge number of cats and dogs Baba (Baboshko, butterfly), donated by Antonioni. A little further - Garden forgotten fruit. It consists of trees endangered species of fruit, among which Tonino immortalized people close to him. There is a chapel dedicated to Tarkovsky, an impressive monument of Federico Fellini and his beloved Giulietta Masina.
On the significance of these people for a writer in the last, the seventh notebook Tonino life. This chapter is very symbolic - it was at the highest point of the Garden of Forgotten Fruits have been bricked up the urn containing the ashes of Tonino Guerra, in March of 2012.


In the care of the human light was hard to believe and friends and admirers of his work. He seemed to be forever to come to Russia, along with Laura and talk for hours with the Russian audience, will work on scenarios and draw pictures. Alas, time takes its. But around the world continue to go his films, on the streets of Italy raised its fountains in the sky, and by Tonino solar clock will stop only when there will rise in the morning sun. Immortality in simple detail - not that he valued most?


The Seine at Bougival

"I'm just one of those trying to help others to brighten up the loneliness, to designate the path leading to the poetry of life. Love diaries, confession and the words that tell the fireflies, appearing in the sky of our being" Tonino Guerra, "Seven Notebooks life"

Pierre-Auguste Renoir


Veryu - ne veryu.... ili veselaya "anomal'naya zona" na kalendare.

Pervoye aprelya - svoyeobraznaya veselaya "anomal'naya zona" na kalendare,
den', kogda ugryumuyu logiku serykh budney mozhno narushit' kakim-nibud' nesusvetnym ozorstvom i pri etom ne proslyt' chelovekom neser'yeznym.


Reshila selyanka perelozhit' pechku. Hanyala muzhika.
Prishel pechnik, nataskal kirpichey, gliny - vse pod razgovor. Zhenshchina poplakalas':
- C muzhem razvozhus'
- Pochemu? - sprashivayet pechnik - p'yet?
- Het - otvechayet selyanka.
- B'yet?
- Het - otvechayet selyanka.
- A chto?
- Khrapit, khrapit, svoloch' tak chto stekla drebezzhat.
V Moskvu vozila, akademikam pokazyvala, deneg kuchu izvela-vse odno khrapit.
- A spit kak? - sprashivayet pechnik.
- Ha spine, kak vse - otvechayet zhenshchina.
- Kak zakhrapit, razdvin' yemu nogi - sovetuyet muzhik.


Ha sleduyushchiy den' prikhodit pechnik dodelyvat' rabotu, i vstrechayet yego nakrytyy stol, naryadnaya khozyayka.
- Za chto, khozyayka? - sprashivayet pechnik-rabota-to ne sdelana.
- Pes s ney, s pechkoy - otvechayet zhenshchina - pomog tvoy sovet, perestal moy muzhik khrapet', kak otrezalo. Tol'ko skazhi, kak ty, prostoy pechnik sumel soobrazit' to, do chego akademiki ne dodumalis'. Zhizn' semeynuyu moyu spas, ved' ya yego, cherta, lyublyu!

- Tak to akademiki - otvechayet pechnik - a my zaprosto rassuzhdayem, po pechnomu:

Nogi razvinesh' - yaytsa upadut. Yaytsa upadut - zadnitsu zakroyut. Tyagi net - i khrapa net.


Khudozhnik Sergey Andriyaka

Ves' god, ne sovrav nikomu ne na grosh,
My zhdem, kak nebesnuyu mannu,
Tot den', kogda mozhno udarit'sya v lozh',
Nevinno predat'sya obmanu!
Nabrav arsenal zaviral'nyy idey,
S koshchunstvennym trepetom v tele
My lovim doverchivykh chestnykh lyudey,
Zabyvshikh o pervom aprele.
I my ikh nakhodim, smirennykh yagnyat,
Prostetski razvesivshikh ushi.
I strely obmana so svistom letyat
V ikh svetlyye, chistyye dushi.
No pervoaprel'skiy veselyy obman -
Serdechnaya nasha potekha.
I strely ne krov' vysekayut iz ran,
A dobryye iskorki smekha.
O, kak zhe on vesel i kak zhe khorosh,
Prishedshiy na smenu metelyam,
Tot prazdnik, vo smekh prevrashchayushchiy lozh'!
Sograzhdane, s pervym aprelya!
I believe - I do not believe .... or gay "anomalous zone" on the calendar.

April Fools' - a kind of cheerful "anomalous zone" on the calendar
day when the grim logic of the monotony of everyday life can be disturbed by some unholy mischief and thus not to be considered a frivolous person.


Peasant woman decided to shift the stove. Hanyala guy.
Stovemaker came, dragged bricks, clay - all under discussion. Woman cry:
- C husband divorce
- Why not? - Asks stovemaker - drinks?
- No - responsible peasant woman.
- Beats?
- No - responsible peasant woman.
- And what?
- Snoring, snoring, so that bastard windows rattle.
In Moscow drove, academics showed a bunch of money-plagued all one snores.
- A sleeping like? - Asks stovemaker.
- For the back, as all - responsible woman.
- How zahrapit, spread your legs to him - suggests a man.


The next day comes oven-builder to finish the work, and greets him a table, elegant hostess.
   - For that, the hostess? - Asks stovemaker-work is not done.
   - The dog with her to the stove - responsible woman - helped your advice, my man stopped snoring, how to cut. Just tell me how you managed to figure out a simple stove-something to which academics have not guessed. Life saved my family, because I have it, heck, I love you!


- So what academics - is responsible stovemaker - and we simply argue, in the kiln:
Legs razvinesh - eggs fall. Eggs fall - ass closed. Traction is not - and no snoring.
3Hudozhnik Sergey Andriyaka


Throughout the year, not lied to nobody for a penny,
We are waiting, as the heavenly manna,
The day when you can hit a lie,
Innocently indulge in the hype!
Typing arsenal zaviralnye ideas
With blasphemous trembling body
We catch trusting honest people
Have forgotten about the first of April.
And we find them, the meek lambs
Prostetski open-mouthed.
And boom deception whistling fly
In their bright, clean showers.
But April Fools hoax cheerful -
Cardiac our fun.
And the boom is not cut out the blood from the wounds,
A good spark laughter.
Oh, how he is hilarious, and how good
Successor blizzards,
That celebration, laughter turns into a lie!
Citizens, with the first of April!

Isaac Levitan paintings