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يوميات رجل ميت
روايةٌ مسرحية أخذت عناوين عدة منها (إلى صديقتي السرية) أو (الثلج الأسود) أو (يوميات رجل ميت) وهي رواية لم ينهِها بطريقة ما ميخائيل بولجاكوف.
بدأ بولجاكوف بكتابة الرواية بجدية في 26 نوفمبر 1936. على هيئة رسائل وسلسلة من المذكرات، أسماها "إلى صديقتي السرية"، موجهة إلى زوجته المستقبلية إيلين بولجاكوفا، وأخذ يشرح كيف أنه "أصبح كاتباً مسرحياً".
في 1930، بدأ بتطوير عمله إلى رواية مسرحية جديدة، تحت عنوان مغاير "يوميات رجل ميت" ، وفي العام نفسه عانى بولجاكوف من التضييق والتعسف والحظر الذي طاله آنذاك من الرقابة السوفيتية فأحرق مسوداته، بجانب الرواية التي تناولت قضايا مع الشيطان.
ولعل المثال الأكثر إثارة للاهتمام في شخصية هذه الرواية، الأحداث التي تأتي على شبه سرد للسيرة الذاتية، والتي تكتب على أنه سلسلة رؤى وأحلام: "يروي بولجاكوف على أنه يحلم بمشاهدة هذا القتل ويقول إنه مات في الحلم، ليس بالمعنى الحرفي، إذ لا يزال الراوي يكمل قصته أنه صرخ على المجرمين والقتلة، ثم اندفع ببندقيته لقتل نفسه قبل أن يأتي رجال بيليورا وينهوه، لكن البندقية بقيت عالقة، واستيقظ وهو يصرخ هلعاً.
في وضع بولجاكوف آنذاك، هل هذه الجهود والمحاولات - كل هذا العمل وإعادة العمل، يسعى جاهدا لتفكيك المأساة مع المأساة - الناتجة من المعرفة و الوعي الذاتي؟ وأود أن أقول المعرفة الذاتية والوعي الذاتي، وبين المعرفة نفسها والسعي النشط للتوصل للصدق الفكري.
بالنسبة "لكاتب عظيم في رأيي كبولجاكوف، ليست المعرفة بحد ذاته التي دفعته للعمل إنما النضال نحو تحرير الفكرة ، فإن الشك والتردد في اليقين، والنضال، لمعرفة هذا الوعي التعقيدي أمام الكثير من الإحباطات والعمليات المضنية التي مر بها في محاولته للحصول على فرصة للاستمرار، جعلت هذا العمل الأكثر تولداً مع المآسي قادراً ببساطة على دفع العمل أخيراً لرقابة القارئ وتحليله وحكمته .
عاني بولجاكوف بشكل خاص بهذا حين قرر عددٌ من نقاد الحزب السوفييتي الأدبي في أثناء تأليفه حظر كل مسرحياته من الخشبة ، ثم كتب رسالة إلى صديقه، الكاتب الروسي مكسيم غوركي يقول فيها ، "أنا مدمر، مشوه السمعة، و وحيد للغاية ".
لم ينهي بولجاكوف أبدا يوميات رجل ميت، على الرغم من أن الرواية لا تزال يوميات متكاملة لدى بعض القراء. ويستند سيرجي ماكسودوف الشخصية الرئيسية والذي هو بولجاكوف نفسه. على قصة كاتب مكافح ولكن على عكس بولجاكوف، إذ اعترف في نهاية المطاف في الفصل الثالث أنه غير ناجح في إتقان فن كتابة الرواية، وعزز اعترافه في محاولته للانتحار بوضع فوهة البندقية على جبهته. لكن فجأة في الفصل التالي، يظهر المحرر والناشر، إيليا إيفانوفيتش روفولفي، على عتبة بابه، مما يضع حداً لخططه.
على الرغم من أن هذه الرواية ليست، بأي وسيلة، في كفة المقارنة مع رواية المعلم ومارغريتا، فمن الضروري بالنسبة لأولئك الذين يريدون أن يفهموا بولجاكوف قراءتها. وعلاوة على ذلك، فهي قراءة إلزامية لأولئك الذين يرغبون في فهم الاضطهاد الذي يواجه المبدعين أحيانا- عبر النضال من أجل الحفاظ على الإيمان والمعرفة على الرغم من التسلط وسلب حرياتهم. من المثير للاهتمام أيضاً أنها تتعلق بقضايا الرقابة التي كانت سائدة آنذاك في روسيا. واليوم في كل مكان.
في المجمل، هذا الكتاب جوهرة صغيرة، تتألق مع العديد من الجوانب التي من شأنها أن تترك للقراء مساحة لتأويل خاصة بهم.
بدأ بولجاكوف بكتابة الرواية بجدية في 26 نوفمبر 1936. على هيئة رسائل وسلسلة من المذكرات، أسماها "إلى صديقتي السرية"، موجهة إلى زوجته المستقبلية إيلين بولجاكوفا، وأخذ يشرح كيف أنه "أصبح كاتباً مسرحياً".
في 1930، بدأ بتطوير عمله إلى رواية مسرحية جديدة، تحت عنوان مغاير "يوميات رجل ميت" ، وفي العام نفسه عانى بولجاكوف من التضييق والتعسف والحظر الذي طاله آنذاك من الرقابة السوفيتية فأحرق مسوداته، بجانب الرواية التي تناولت قضايا مع الشيطان.
ولعل المثال الأكثر إثارة للاهتمام في شخصية هذه الرواية، الأحداث التي تأتي على شبه سرد للسيرة الذاتية، والتي تكتب على أنه سلسلة رؤى وأحلام: "يروي بولجاكوف على أنه يحلم بمشاهدة هذا القتل ويقول إنه مات في الحلم، ليس بالمعنى الحرفي، إذ لا يزال الراوي يكمل قصته أنه صرخ على المجرمين والقتلة، ثم اندفع ببندقيته لقتل نفسه قبل أن يأتي رجال بيليورا وينهوه، لكن البندقية بقيت عالقة، واستيقظ وهو يصرخ هلعاً.
في وضع بولجاكوف آنذاك، هل هذه الجهود والمحاولات - كل هذا العمل وإعادة العمل، يسعى جاهدا لتفكيك المأساة مع المأساة - الناتجة من المعرفة و الوعي الذاتي؟ وأود أن أقول المعرفة الذاتية والوعي الذاتي، وبين المعرفة نفسها والسعي النشط للتوصل للصدق الفكري.
بالنسبة "لكاتب عظيم في رأيي كبولجاكوف، ليست المعرفة بحد ذاته التي دفعته للعمل إنما النضال نحو تحرير الفكرة ، فإن الشك والتردد في اليقين، والنضال، لمعرفة هذا الوعي التعقيدي أمام الكثير من الإحباطات والعمليات المضنية التي مر بها في محاولته للحصول على فرصة للاستمرار، جعلت هذا العمل الأكثر تولداً مع المآسي قادراً ببساطة على دفع العمل أخيراً لرقابة القارئ وتحليله وحكمته .
عاني بولجاكوف بشكل خاص بهذا حين قرر عددٌ من نقاد الحزب السوفييتي الأدبي في أثناء تأليفه حظر كل مسرحياته من الخشبة ، ثم كتب رسالة إلى صديقه، الكاتب الروسي مكسيم غوركي يقول فيها ، "أنا مدمر، مشوه السمعة، و وحيد للغاية ".
لم ينهي بولجاكوف أبدا يوميات رجل ميت، على الرغم من أن الرواية لا تزال يوميات متكاملة لدى بعض القراء. ويستند سيرجي ماكسودوف الشخصية الرئيسية والذي هو بولجاكوف نفسه. على قصة كاتب مكافح ولكن على عكس بولجاكوف، إذ اعترف في نهاية المطاف في الفصل الثالث أنه غير ناجح في إتقان فن كتابة الرواية، وعزز اعترافه في محاولته للانتحار بوضع فوهة البندقية على جبهته. لكن فجأة في الفصل التالي، يظهر المحرر والناشر، إيليا إيفانوفيتش روفولفي، على عتبة بابه، مما يضع حداً لخططه.
على الرغم من أن هذه الرواية ليست، بأي وسيلة، في كفة المقارنة مع رواية المعلم ومارغريتا، فمن الضروري بالنسبة لأولئك الذين يريدون أن يفهموا بولجاكوف قراءتها. وعلاوة على ذلك، فهي قراءة إلزامية لأولئك الذين يرغبون في فهم الاضطهاد الذي يواجه المبدعين أحيانا- عبر النضال من أجل الحفاظ على الإيمان والمعرفة على الرغم من التسلط وسلب حرياتهم. من المثير للاهتمام أيضاً أنها تتعلق بقضايا الرقابة التي كانت سائدة آنذاك في روسيا. واليوم في كل مكان.
في المجمل، هذا الكتاب جوهرة صغيرة، تتألق مع العديد من الجوانب التي من شأنها أن تترك للقراء مساحة لتأويل خاصة بهم.
239 pages, Paperback
First published March 1, 1965
201 people are currently reading
5,469 people want to read
About the author
Mikhail Bulgakov
686books7,397followersMikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov (Russian: Михаил Булгаков) was a Russian writer, medical doctor, and playwright. His novel The Master and Margarita, published posthumously, has been called one of the masterpieces of the 20th century.
He also wrote the novel The White Guard and the plays Ivan Vasilievich, Flight (also called The Run), and The Days of the Turbins. He wrote mostly about the horrors of the Russian Civil War and about the fate of Russian intellectuals and officers of the Tsarist Army caught up in revolution and Civil War.
Some of his works (Flight, all his works between the years 1922 and 1926, and others) were banned by the Soviet government, and personally by Joseph Stalin, after it was decided by them that they "glorified emigration and White generals". On the other hand, Stalin loved The Days of the Turbins (also called The Turbin Brothers) very much and reportedly saw it at least 15 times.
He also wrote the novel The White Guard and the plays Ivan Vasilievich, Flight (also called The Run), and The Days of the Turbins. He wrote mostly about the horrors of the Russian Civil War and about the fate of Russian intellectuals and officers of the Tsarist Army caught up in revolution and Civil War.
Some of his works (Flight, all his works between the years 1922 and 1926, and others) were banned by the Soviet government, and personally by Joseph Stalin, after it was decided by them that they "glorified emigration and White generals". On the other hand, Stalin loved The Days of the Turbins (also called The Turbin Brothers) very much and reportedly saw it at least 15 times.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 373 reviews
November 22, 2020
Black Snow is a satirical roman à clef of two worlds � the one of literature and the other of theatres� And those worlds collide�
In creative throes, the novel is born and the author enters a literary world � the world of ostentation, hypocrisy and envy�
No one cares about his novel so in agony the author turns his tale into a play�
And the author finds himself in a theatrical world � the world of pretence, pomposity and intrigues� And the director is a king and god there� And the author’s life becomes a torment�
Those who bend and conform survive but they are despised and soon forgotten� Those who don’t want to bend and comply perish but their creations are imperishable.
In creative throes, the novel is born and the author enters a literary world � the world of ostentation, hypocrisy and envy�
The party warmed up. Layers of smoke were already billowing over the table. I felt something soft and slippery under my foot and bending down I saw that it was a piece of salmon. How it got there, I had no idea. Laughter drowned Ismail Alexandrovich’s words and I never heard the rest of his astounding tales of Paris.
No one cares about his novel so in agony the author turns his tale into a play�
It was very simple. What I saw, I wrote down; what I didn’t see, I left out. There was the scene: the lights came on and lit it up in bright colors. Did it please me? Extremely. So I’ll write that down � Scene One. It’s evening, the lamp is burning; it has a fringed shade. Music lies open on the grand piano. Someone is playing Faust. Suddenly Faust stops and a guitar starts playing. Who is playing it? Here he comes, with the guitar in his hands. I hear him start singing. So I write: “Starts to sing.�
And the author finds himself in a theatrical world � the world of pretence, pomposity and intrigues� And the director is a king and god there� And the author’s life becomes a torment�
“Nobody,� replied Bombardov, emphasizing every word, “has answered back, does answer back or ever will answer back.�
“Whatever he may say?�
“Whatever he may say.�
“And supposing he were to say that my main character ought to go to Penza? Or that this mother, Antonina, ought to hang herself? Or that she sings contralto? Or that that stove is black? What do I have to say to that?�
“That the stove is black.�
Those who bend and conform survive but they are despised and soon forgotten� Those who don’t want to bend and comply perish but their creations are imperishable.
March 6, 2020
حس قدیمی رمان های روسی خوب...مثل یک نوشیدنی غنی و خاص
ادبیات روسیه برای قلب های گرفته اما زنده نوشته شده..قلب هایی که سخت اما عمیق میزنن..
اولین کتابی که از بولگاکوف میخونم,و طعم و بوی قلمش رو ازسه کلمه اول کتاب شنیدم و همین کافی بود..
کتاب برف سیاه در واقع کتاب خود بولگاکوف هه.
روایتی که خودش با عمق وجودش حس کرده,شربتی تلخ از زندگی که به اجبار نوشیده..شربتی که با قلم در اینجا حضور بهم رسانیده و این نوشیدنی خوب رو ساخته در قالب یک کتاب..
ادبیات روسیه برای قلب های گرفته اما زنده نوشته شده..قلب هایی که سخت اما عمیق میزنن..
اولین کتابی که از بولگاکوف میخونم,و طعم و بوی قلمش رو ازسه کلمه اول کتاب شنیدم و همین کافی بود..
کتاب برف سیاه در واقع کتاب خود بولگاکوف هه.
روایتی که خودش با عمق وجودش حس کرده,شربتی تلخ از زندگی که به اجبار نوشیده..شربتی که با قلم در اینجا حضور بهم رسانیده و این نوشیدنی خوب رو ساخته در قالب یک کتاب..
November 26, 2021
Театральный роман = A Dead Man's Memoir = Theatrical Novel, Mikhail Bulgakov
Theatrical Novel, translated as Black Snow and A Dead Man's Memoir is an unfinished novel by Mikhail Bulgakov.
Written in first-person, on behalf of a writer Sergei Maksudov, the novel tells of the drama behind-the-scenes of a theater production and the Soviet writers' world.
A Dead Man's Memoir is a semi-autobiographical story about a writer who fails to sell his novel, then fails to commit suicide.
When the writer's play is taken up for production in a theater, literary success beckons, but he is not prepared to reckon with the grotesquely inflated egos of the actors, directors, and theater managers.
تاریخ نخستین خوانش روز بیست و پنجم ماه نوامبر سال2012میلادی
عنوان: دست نوشتهها� یک مرده؛ نویسنده میخاییل آفاناسیویچ بولگاکف؛ مترجم فهیمه توزندهجانی� تهران، کتابسرای تندیس؛ سال1390؛ در230ص؛ شابک9786001820106؛ چاپ دوم سال1392؛ چاپ سوم سال1395؛ موضوع داستانهای نویسندگان روسیه - سده20م
سرگئی لئونتویچ شخصیت نخست این داستان پس از گذراندن دوره� ای در زندگی خود، به یک ناکامی بزرگ رسیده، و در پی بحرانه� و ناامیدیها� میخواهد خودکشی کند؛ اما تلاش او برای خودکشی نیز، همانند تلاشش برای نویسنده شدن، شکست میخورد؛ دستنوشتهها� شخصیت نخست، تنها زاییده� ی خیال و بیماری مالیخویاییا� است؛ خوانشگر نیز در این فضا با شادیه� و غمها� او همراه است؛ «بولگاکف» به نیکویی در این رمان، دردهای خود از جامعه� ی هنری را، درون شخصیت نخست داستان، نمایان کرده اند؛ داستانی که بیشباه� به زندگی خود «بولگاکف» نیست؛ چرا که اگر زندگینام� نویسنده را، در کنار این رمان قرار دهید، دو داستان موازی، و مرتبط با یکدیگر، خواهید یافت؛ داستانِ نزدیک به یک دهه، از ارتباط «بولگاکف» با تئاتر هنری «مسکو» را، در یک سال نمایان میکند� داستان از زبان اول شخص بازگو میشود� و نویسنده خود در قالب نویسنده� ای در داستان، گویی با خوانشگر خود، که به زودی کتاب او را میخواند� سخن میگوید� و خوانشگر را تا انتها با خود همراه میکن�
نقل از متن کتاب: (دوستان، هیچ چیزی بدتر از بزدلی، و عدم اعتماد به نفس نیست، این دو خصلت مرا تا آنجایی پیش برد، که به این قضیه اندیشیدم که آیا به راستی خواهر نامزد کرده را به مادر بدل کنم؟ پیش خود استدلال میکرد�: واقعا چنین کاری امکان ندارد، چرا چنین چیز بیخود� را گفته، خوب به هر حال آیا او در این حرفه خبره است؟
و با این استدلال قلم را برداشتم، و روی یک برگه� ی کاغذ، چیزهایی نوشتم؛ اما باید صادقانه بگویم، حاصل کارم مزخرف بود؛ مهمتری� مسئله اینکه آنچنان از مادر ناخواسته آنتونیو نفرت داشتم، که به محض پدیدار شدنش بر روی کاغذم، دندانهای� را از خشم به هم سابیدم، در حقیقت هیچ چیزی درست پیش نمیرف�
نویسنده میبایس� قهرمانانش را دوست داشته باشد، و اگر اینگونه نباشد، توصیه میکن� که دست به قلم نبرید، زیرا باور کنید نتیجه� ی فوقالعاد� اسفباری عایدتان میشود� با خشم فروخوردهام� زیرلب زمزمه کردم: باور کنید! و سپس کاغذهایم را تکهتک� کردم، و تصمیم گرفتم، دیگر هرگز به تئاتر باز نگردم، هرچند که عمل کردن به چنین تصمیمی بسیار عذابآو� بود، و هنوز دوست داشتم بدانم که آخر کار چه میشود� اما با خود فکر کردم «نه بگذار التماسم بکنند.»؛
یک روز گذشت، روز دیگر هم همینطور� سه روز، و در نهایت یک هفته� ی دیگر هم سپری شد، و هیچ کسی از تئاتر سراغم را نگرفت؛ ظاهرا حق با ليكاسپاستوف پست فطرت بوده، نمیخواهن� نمایشنامها� را اجرا کنند، آن پوستر، آن نمایشنامه «طعمه� فنیز»، آه چرا هیچک� سراغم نمیآی�! آخر مگر دنیا بدون آدمها� خوب هم میشود�
تا اینکه یک روز، بالاخره در اتاقم را زدند، و «بمباردوف» وارد شد؛ آنقد� از دیدنش خوشحال شده بودم، که کم مانده بود اشک بریزم، «بمباردوف» روی صندلی نزدیک رادیاتور نشست، و پاهایش را روی هم انداخت، و گفت: -انتظار همه� این چیزها را داشتم، همانطو� که پیشبین� کرده بودم، به تو گفته بودم! نگفتم؟
فریاد زدم: فکر کن خودت فکر کن، چطور میتوانست� صحنه� ی تیراندازی را نخوانم؟ ها؟ چه طور نمیخواندمش�
بمباردوف با لحنی بیرحمان� گفت: - خوب خواندی دیگر! خواهش میکنم� نتیجها� را هم دیدی
باخشم گفتم: من هرگز از قهرمانانم جدا نمیشو�!؛
حالا مگر کسی گفته بود جدا بشوی...؛
اجازه بده!؛
و من که از خشم نفسنف� میزد� برای «بمباردوف» همه چیز را توضیح دادم: ماجرای مادر، درباره� «پتیا» که میبایس� تکگوییها� مهم و ارزشمند قهرمان را بیان کند، و خصوصا درباره� ماجرای آن خنجر، که حسابی کفرم را درآورده بود)؛ پایان
تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 04/09/1400هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی
Theatrical Novel, translated as Black Snow and A Dead Man's Memoir is an unfinished novel by Mikhail Bulgakov.
Written in first-person, on behalf of a writer Sergei Maksudov, the novel tells of the drama behind-the-scenes of a theater production and the Soviet writers' world.
A Dead Man's Memoir is a semi-autobiographical story about a writer who fails to sell his novel, then fails to commit suicide.
When the writer's play is taken up for production in a theater, literary success beckons, but he is not prepared to reckon with the grotesquely inflated egos of the actors, directors, and theater managers.
تاریخ نخستین خوانش روز بیست و پنجم ماه نوامبر سال2012میلادی
عنوان: دست نوشتهها� یک مرده؛ نویسنده میخاییل آفاناسیویچ بولگاکف؛ مترجم فهیمه توزندهجانی� تهران، کتابسرای تندیس؛ سال1390؛ در230ص؛ شابک9786001820106؛ چاپ دوم سال1392؛ چاپ سوم سال1395؛ موضوع داستانهای نویسندگان روسیه - سده20م
سرگئی لئونتویچ شخصیت نخست این داستان پس از گذراندن دوره� ای در زندگی خود، به یک ناکامی بزرگ رسیده، و در پی بحرانه� و ناامیدیها� میخواهد خودکشی کند؛ اما تلاش او برای خودکشی نیز، همانند تلاشش برای نویسنده شدن، شکست میخورد؛ دستنوشتهها� شخصیت نخست، تنها زاییده� ی خیال و بیماری مالیخویاییا� است؛ خوانشگر نیز در این فضا با شادیه� و غمها� او همراه است؛ «بولگاکف» به نیکویی در این رمان، دردهای خود از جامعه� ی هنری را، درون شخصیت نخست داستان، نمایان کرده اند؛ داستانی که بیشباه� به زندگی خود «بولگاکف» نیست؛ چرا که اگر زندگینام� نویسنده را، در کنار این رمان قرار دهید، دو داستان موازی، و مرتبط با یکدیگر، خواهید یافت؛ داستانِ نزدیک به یک دهه، از ارتباط «بولگاکف» با تئاتر هنری «مسکو» را، در یک سال نمایان میکند� داستان از زبان اول شخص بازگو میشود� و نویسنده خود در قالب نویسنده� ای در داستان، گویی با خوانشگر خود، که به زودی کتاب او را میخواند� سخن میگوید� و خوانشگر را تا انتها با خود همراه میکن�
نقل از متن کتاب: (دوستان، هیچ چیزی بدتر از بزدلی، و عدم اعتماد به نفس نیست، این دو خصلت مرا تا آنجایی پیش برد، که به این قضیه اندیشیدم که آیا به راستی خواهر نامزد کرده را به مادر بدل کنم؟ پیش خود استدلال میکرد�: واقعا چنین کاری امکان ندارد، چرا چنین چیز بیخود� را گفته، خوب به هر حال آیا او در این حرفه خبره است؟
و با این استدلال قلم را برداشتم، و روی یک برگه� ی کاغذ، چیزهایی نوشتم؛ اما باید صادقانه بگویم، حاصل کارم مزخرف بود؛ مهمتری� مسئله اینکه آنچنان از مادر ناخواسته آنتونیو نفرت داشتم، که به محض پدیدار شدنش بر روی کاغذم، دندانهای� را از خشم به هم سابیدم، در حقیقت هیچ چیزی درست پیش نمیرف�
نویسنده میبایس� قهرمانانش را دوست داشته باشد، و اگر اینگونه نباشد، توصیه میکن� که دست به قلم نبرید، زیرا باور کنید نتیجه� ی فوقالعاد� اسفباری عایدتان میشود� با خشم فروخوردهام� زیرلب زمزمه کردم: باور کنید! و سپس کاغذهایم را تکهتک� کردم، و تصمیم گرفتم، دیگر هرگز به تئاتر باز نگردم، هرچند که عمل کردن به چنین تصمیمی بسیار عذابآو� بود، و هنوز دوست داشتم بدانم که آخر کار چه میشود� اما با خود فکر کردم «نه بگذار التماسم بکنند.»؛
یک روز گذشت، روز دیگر هم همینطور� سه روز، و در نهایت یک هفته� ی دیگر هم سپری شد، و هیچ کسی از تئاتر سراغم را نگرفت؛ ظاهرا حق با ليكاسپاستوف پست فطرت بوده، نمیخواهن� نمایشنامها� را اجرا کنند، آن پوستر، آن نمایشنامه «طعمه� فنیز»، آه چرا هیچک� سراغم نمیآی�! آخر مگر دنیا بدون آدمها� خوب هم میشود�
تا اینکه یک روز، بالاخره در اتاقم را زدند، و «بمباردوف» وارد شد؛ آنقد� از دیدنش خوشحال شده بودم، که کم مانده بود اشک بریزم، «بمباردوف» روی صندلی نزدیک رادیاتور نشست، و پاهایش را روی هم انداخت، و گفت: -انتظار همه� این چیزها را داشتم، همانطو� که پیشبین� کرده بودم، به تو گفته بودم! نگفتم؟
فریاد زدم: فکر کن خودت فکر کن، چطور میتوانست� صحنه� ی تیراندازی را نخوانم؟ ها؟ چه طور نمیخواندمش�
بمباردوف با لحنی بیرحمان� گفت: - خوب خواندی دیگر! خواهش میکنم� نتیجها� را هم دیدی
باخشم گفتم: من هرگز از قهرمانانم جدا نمیشو�!؛
حالا مگر کسی گفته بود جدا بشوی...؛
اجازه بده!؛
و من که از خشم نفسنف� میزد� برای «بمباردوف» همه چیز را توضیح دادم: ماجرای مادر، درباره� «پتیا» که میبایس� تکگوییها� مهم و ارزشمند قهرمان را بیان کند، و خصوصا درباره� ماجرای آن خنجر، که حسابی کفرم را درآورده بود)؛ پایان
تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 04/09/1400هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی
February 10, 2020
I must be one of only a few that didn't think a great deal of Master and Margarita. Not that it was bad, I just didn't think of it as the masterpiece I expected, generally brought on by all the hype surrounding it. Personally, I much preferred The White Guard, of which the subject matter interested me far more, and now having read Black Snow, I can put it right along side that as my fave Bulgakov. This is one of the last books Bulgakov wrote (although it didn't see the light of day until 1967) and explores the problem of censorship, something that plagued Bulgakov and many other writers like him. First gaining success as a playwright, this brilliant satirical comedy revisits his theatre days, probably with the intention of settling some old scores in the process. The Moscow Art Theatre was likely high on his mind, with Black Snow's principal characters being indisputable caricatures of theatre practitioners like Konstantin Stanislavski among others.
Propelled into the world of egomania, work contracts, and backstage squabbles after his woeful novel is turned into a play, Maxudov chronicles his experiences with a clinical eye for the absurd.He simply falls in love with his new tag as a playwright, and doesn't want to be away from this world for a second, but he soon finds out the theatre is not the magic place it had once seemed, and its two cocksure co-directors have not been on speaking terms for years. Filled with some dazzling set pieces, we get petty animosities, intrigues, clashing egos, and above all, the absurdities of the Theatre's famous Method. Maxudov is obliged to cut, alter, substitute his play, and in the end its beyond recognition. Rehearsals drag for so long that with the off season coming on, he suddenly acknowledges that production may never materialise. Maxudov's lethal treatment at the hands of the literary elite is superbly carried through, and unlike Bulgakov who in reality didn't have the luxury to criticise or rant and rave, Maxudov does so accordingly.
Propelled into the world of egomania, work contracts, and backstage squabbles after his woeful novel is turned into a play, Maxudov chronicles his experiences with a clinical eye for the absurd.He simply falls in love with his new tag as a playwright, and doesn't want to be away from this world for a second, but he soon finds out the theatre is not the magic place it had once seemed, and its two cocksure co-directors have not been on speaking terms for years. Filled with some dazzling set pieces, we get petty animosities, intrigues, clashing egos, and above all, the absurdities of the Theatre's famous Method. Maxudov is obliged to cut, alter, substitute his play, and in the end its beyond recognition. Rehearsals drag for so long that with the off season coming on, he suddenly acknowledges that production may never materialise. Maxudov's lethal treatment at the hands of the literary elite is superbly carried through, and unlike Bulgakov who in reality didn't have the luxury to criticise or rant and rave, Maxudov does so accordingly.
August 25, 2022
Human memory is an amazing thing and having just finished
Black Snow: A Theatrical Novel
I understand once again that, after I fell in love with Mikhail Bulgakov some years back by reading first his
The Life of Monsieur de Moliere
, there has been a constancy in my strong and deep appreciation, that is to say my feeling of affection, for this writer with every single book penned by him that I had read meanwhile, and there are several in house...
Black Snow , most people say this is an incomplete, unfinished work. It might be so but for my mind’s eye, although there is some ambiguity at the end, when the last page cuts you short from the narrative, I have the feeling that I was given enough to complement myself the remainder of the novel. Ha. How about this level of low modesty :D Let’s not forget, I do love Bulgakov and this gives me a sense of possessiveness over his story. Additionally, throughout the read, I experienced the piercing feeling that the author was winking at me the whole time. But, of course, such kind of effect can happen only if you like the writer yourself.
The matter of fact is that the novel was finished even from page 2, where the author warned the reader that this is not his own work, but a manuscript of a man that committed suicide . So, we’re being told in just 2 pages the whole intrigue, and that the person who actually wrote this ‘memoir� resumed successfully his second attempt at suicide . But, of course, we don’t need to insist on this part…It is enough that we are introduced into the very strange and unhappy circumstances that affected severely Sergei Leontyevich Maxudov, a lowly employee with the newspaper The Shipping Gazette, who seemed a sick man, and apparently suffered from an illness with an extremely unpleasant name: melancholy. He had never been connected with the theatrical world in his life, still he first wrote a novel, then tried to adapt it to a play, and then he assisted in despair to how his play was rehearsed for the planned performance�
-I’m going out of my mind�, I whispered.
-No, don’t do that� It’s simply that you don’t know what kind of place the theatre is. Of all the complicated things on this planet, the theatre is the most complicated of all�
-Go on, gon on! I shouted, clutching at my head.
-They liked your play so much that panic set in, Bombardov began. That’s why it all came to the boil like that� As soon as they had become familiar with the play and the senior members had to to hear about it, they set about deciding who should take which part. It was decided that Ippolit Pavlovich should play Bakhtin, and they thought that Valentin Konradovich should take the part of Petrov.
-What?... the Val� who?...
-Yes, him.
-But really! I yelled, rather than just shouted. Wasn’t he�
-Well, yes, he was, Bombardov said, evidently anticipating what I was going to say. Ippolit Pavlovich is 61, Valentin Konradovich, 62…And how old is your oldest character Bakhtin?
-He’s 28!
-There you are! So as soon as the senior members had been sent copies of the play, it became impossible to tell you what was going on. This was the first time such a thing had happened during the fifty years of the theatre’s existencee. They’d all simply taken umbrage.
-But who with? With the casting director?
-No. With the author.
All I could do was to gape in astonishment. Bombardov continued:
-With the author. And, indeed, this was how the group of senior members had reasoned amongst themselves: “We are looking for, thirsting for, parts to play. As founding members we would be so happy to demonstrate our skills in a modern play and…look what happens, it you please! Along comes this man in a grey suit brining with him a play in which the characters are young boys! That means we won’t be able to perform it, doesn’t it! Has he brought that play along as a joke or something?! The youngest senior member, Gerasim Nikolayevich, is 57 years old.
-But I’m not in any way claiming my play has to be performed by senior members! I yelled. Let the parts be taken by younger actors!
-Oh, that’s brilliant! Bombardov exclaimed, looking at me with a devilish expression. So you’re saying, in other words, let Argunin, Galin, Yelagin, Blagosvetlosv, Strenkovsky come out and take their curtain calls…Bravo! Encore! Hurrah! Just look, you good people, what wonderful actors we are! And that means that the founding members will just sit there with confused smiles, as if to say: so we’re superfluous now, are we? So it’s off to the poor-house for us, then? Very funny! Brilliant!
This is indeed a brilliant idea. I mean I have just realized what my next read to tackle is going to be: The Diary of a Superfluous Man! by tender Ivan Turgenev. Isn’t that amazing!? :))
Black Snow: A Theatrical Novel is a whimsical novel, and it is best to approach it with a feeling of delicious anticipation, looking forward to receiving a very pleasing reading experience, same like its author experienced it when he saw the following poster placed on the Moscow Independent Theatre board:
Forthcoming:
Agamemnon , Aeschylus
Philoctetes, Sophocles
Fenisa’s Snare, Lope de Vega
King Lear, Shakespeare
The Maid of Orleans, Schiller
Not of this World, Ostrovsky
Black Snow, Maxudov
Black Snow , most people say this is an incomplete, unfinished work. It might be so but for my mind’s eye, although there is some ambiguity at the end, when the last page cuts you short from the narrative, I have the feeling that I was given enough to complement myself the remainder of the novel. Ha. How about this level of low modesty :D Let’s not forget, I do love Bulgakov and this gives me a sense of possessiveness over his story. Additionally, throughout the read, I experienced the piercing feeling that the author was winking at me the whole time. But, of course, such kind of effect can happen only if you like the writer yourself.
The matter of fact is that the novel was finished even from page 2, where the author warned the reader that this is not his own work, but a manuscript of a man that committed suicide . So, we’re being told in just 2 pages the whole intrigue, and that the person who actually wrote this ‘memoir� resumed successfully his second attempt at suicide . But, of course, we don’t need to insist on this part…It is enough that we are introduced into the very strange and unhappy circumstances that affected severely Sergei Leontyevich Maxudov, a lowly employee with the newspaper The Shipping Gazette, who seemed a sick man, and apparently suffered from an illness with an extremely unpleasant name: melancholy. He had never been connected with the theatrical world in his life, still he first wrote a novel, then tried to adapt it to a play, and then he assisted in despair to how his play was rehearsed for the planned performance�
-I’m going out of my mind�, I whispered.
-No, don’t do that� It’s simply that you don’t know what kind of place the theatre is. Of all the complicated things on this planet, the theatre is the most complicated of all�
-Go on, gon on! I shouted, clutching at my head.
-They liked your play so much that panic set in, Bombardov began. That’s why it all came to the boil like that� As soon as they had become familiar with the play and the senior members had to to hear about it, they set about deciding who should take which part. It was decided that Ippolit Pavlovich should play Bakhtin, and they thought that Valentin Konradovich should take the part of Petrov.
-What?... the Val� who?...
-Yes, him.
-But really! I yelled, rather than just shouted. Wasn’t he�
-Well, yes, he was, Bombardov said, evidently anticipating what I was going to say. Ippolit Pavlovich is 61, Valentin Konradovich, 62…And how old is your oldest character Bakhtin?
-He’s 28!
-There you are! So as soon as the senior members had been sent copies of the play, it became impossible to tell you what was going on. This was the first time such a thing had happened during the fifty years of the theatre’s existencee. They’d all simply taken umbrage.
-But who with? With the casting director?
-No. With the author.
All I could do was to gape in astonishment. Bombardov continued:
-With the author. And, indeed, this was how the group of senior members had reasoned amongst themselves: “We are looking for, thirsting for, parts to play. As founding members we would be so happy to demonstrate our skills in a modern play and…look what happens, it you please! Along comes this man in a grey suit brining with him a play in which the characters are young boys! That means we won’t be able to perform it, doesn’t it! Has he brought that play along as a joke or something?! The youngest senior member, Gerasim Nikolayevich, is 57 years old.
-But I’m not in any way claiming my play has to be performed by senior members! I yelled. Let the parts be taken by younger actors!
-Oh, that’s brilliant! Bombardov exclaimed, looking at me with a devilish expression. So you’re saying, in other words, let Argunin, Galin, Yelagin, Blagosvetlosv, Strenkovsky come out and take their curtain calls…Bravo! Encore! Hurrah! Just look, you good people, what wonderful actors we are! And that means that the founding members will just sit there with confused smiles, as if to say: so we’re superfluous now, are we? So it’s off to the poor-house for us, then? Very funny! Brilliant!
This is indeed a brilliant idea. I mean I have just realized what my next read to tackle is going to be: The Diary of a Superfluous Man! by tender Ivan Turgenev. Isn’t that amazing!? :))
Black Snow: A Theatrical Novel is a whimsical novel, and it is best to approach it with a feeling of delicious anticipation, looking forward to receiving a very pleasing reading experience, same like its author experienced it when he saw the following poster placed on the Moscow Independent Theatre board:
Forthcoming:
Agamemnon , Aeschylus
Philoctetes, Sophocles
Fenisa’s Snare, Lope de Vega
King Lear, Shakespeare
The Maid of Orleans, Schiller
Not of this World, Ostrovsky
Black Snow, Maxudov
February 4, 2025
Още една силна сатира на Михаил Булгаков! Той чудесно осмива съветските театрални среди, разказвайки за перипетиите си при създаването на пиеса... „Театрален роман� не успя да ме разтърси както великолепната „Майстора и Маргарита�, но все пак ми хареса и се насладих характерния за автора стил на писане.
„Циганскот� лято се предаде и отстъпи мястото си на мократа есен. През прозореца нахлуваше сива светлина. Аз седях на канапето и се отразявах в дебелите стъкла на шкафа, а Поликсена седеше на едно столче. Усещах се двуетажен. На горния царяха суматоха и безредие, което трябваше да бъде превърнато в ред. Взискателните герои на пиесата изпълваха душата ми с безкрайни грижи. Всеки изискваше необходимите думи, всеки се мъчеше да заеме първото място, изтласквайки другите. Да се редактира пиеса, е ужасно уморително. Горният етаж шумеше и се движеше в главата ми, пречеше ми да се наслаждавам на долния, където цареше установен, траен покой.�
„Огромният град пулсира, сякаш целият е вълни � те ту прииждат, ту се отдръпват. Понякога вълната на Филините посетители отслабваше без всякаква видима причина и Филя си позволяваше да се отпусне в креслото, да се пошегува с някого, да се поразтъпче.
� Пък мен ме пратиха при теб � казва актьор от някакъв друг театър.
� Намерили кого да пратят � гюрултаджия � отговаря Филя и се смее само с бузи (очите на Филя никога не се смееха).�
„Роману� добавяше, че ребра могат да се трошат не в театъра, а в кръчмата, където впрочем някои получават своето артистично образование.�
„Трябваше да проумееш главното! Как можеш да се харесаш на един човек, ако той самият не ти харесва? Ти какво си мислиш? Че ще измамиш някого? Ти си настроен против него, а ще се мъчиш да внушиш симпатия към себе си? Никога няма да успееш, колкото и да се превземаш пред огледалото.�
„Циганскот� лято се предаде и отстъпи мястото си на мократа есен. През прозореца нахлуваше сива светлина. Аз седях на канапето и се отразявах в дебелите стъкла на шкафа, а Поликсена седеше на едно столче. Усещах се двуетажен. На горния царяха суматоха и безредие, което трябваше да бъде превърнато в ред. Взискателните герои на пиесата изпълваха душата ми с безкрайни грижи. Всеки изискваше необходимите думи, всеки се мъчеше да заеме първото място, изтласквайки другите. Да се редактира пиеса, е ужасно уморително. Горният етаж шумеше и се движеше в главата ми, пречеше ми да се наслаждавам на долния, където цареше установен, траен покой.�
„Огромният град пулсира, сякаш целият е вълни � те ту прииждат, ту се отдръпват. Понякога вълната на Филините посетители отслабваше без всякаква видима причина и Филя си позволяваше да се отпусне в креслото, да се пошегува с някого, да се поразтъпче.
� Пък мен ме пратиха при теб � казва актьор от някакъв друг театър.
� Намерили кого да пратят � гюрултаджия � отговаря Филя и се смее само с бузи (очите на Филя никога не се смееха).�
„Роману� добавяше, че ребра могат да се трошат не в театъра, а в кръчмата, където впрочем някои получават своето артистично образование.�
„Трябваше да проумееш главното! Как можеш да се харесаш на един човек, ако той самият не ти харесва? Ти какво си мислиш? Че ще измамиш някого? Ти си настроен против него, а ще се мъчиш да внушиш симпатия към себе си? Никога няма да успееш, колкото и да се превземаш пред огледалото.�
August 5, 2023
"يوميات رجل ميت" كتاب مضلل من دار الرافدين، فأسماء القصص القصيؤة على الغلاف لا تلفت النظر الى ان نصف الكتاب هو لرواية "قلب كلب" المشهورة لبولغاكوف. والترجمة الجديدة لم تكن افضل من الترجمة القديمة.
- القصص القصيرة الاخرى كانت جيدة بشكل عام، خصوصا "الى صديقتي السريّة".
- يعيب الكتاب كثرة التمهيدات والمقدمات، لم يكن لها داعي ولا معنى ولا اعرف ما هي فائدة ان تقدّم للقارئ ملخص عن القصة واستنتاجاتك الشخصية قبل ان يقرأها!!
- هناك لمحات كثيرة من حياة بولغاكوف الشخصية في هذه القصص، المعاناة في النشر والصحافة والإضطرار لتقديم عدة خطابات حسب آلية النشر ونوعية المتلقي.
- كتاب جيد بشكل عام.
- القصص القصيرة الاخرى كانت جيدة بشكل عام، خصوصا "الى صديقتي السريّة".
- يعيب الكتاب كثرة التمهيدات والمقدمات، لم يكن لها داعي ولا معنى ولا اعرف ما هي فائدة ان تقدّم للقارئ ملخص عن القصة واستنتاجاتك الشخصية قبل ان يقرأها!!
- هناك لمحات كثيرة من حياة بولغاكوف الشخصية في هذه القصص، المعاناة في النشر والصحافة والإضطرار لتقديم عدة خطابات حسب آلية النشر ونوعية المتلقي.
- كتاب جيد بشكل عام.
February 24, 2022
تعصب الکی خوب نیست حتی روی نویسنده ای چون بولگاکف ...
July 19, 2015
هدف بولگاکوف از نوشتن این کتاب، شکنج� روحی مخاطب است. اگر باور ندارید کتاب رو بخونید.
November 27, 2019
اگر بتوانید از میان دریای متلاطم و توفانی انبوه نامها� طولانی و عجیب روسی گذر کنید به سرزمین خوش آب و هوای معانی کتاب وارد خواهید شد.
بولگاکف با این کتاب که در لایه رویی به تئاتر و مصائب نویسندگی و غول سانسور در شوروی میپرداز� عملاً درد مشترکی را فریاد میزن� که به شدت برای ما آشناست.
طنزی گزنده که گاها بسیار شیرین و خواندنی میشود.
برف سیاه اسم نمایشنامه قهرمان ماست که در نهایت به سرنوشتی شاید محتوم دچار میشو�.
البته برف هیچوقت سیاه نیست ولی این اشارها� است به این نکته که به مدد دستاندرکاران� برف سفید به برف سیاه ناممکن و ناموجود، مبدل شدنی است.
بولگاکف با این کتاب که در لایه رویی به تئاتر و مصائب نویسندگی و غول سانسور در شوروی میپرداز� عملاً درد مشترکی را فریاد میزن� که به شدت برای ما آشناست.
طنزی گزنده که گاها بسیار شیرین و خواندنی میشود.
برف سیاه اسم نمایشنامه قهرمان ماست که در نهایت به سرنوشتی شاید محتوم دچار میشو�.
البته برف هیچوقت سیاه نیست ولی این اشارها� است به این نکته که به مدد دستاندرکاران� برف سفید به برف سیاه ناممکن و ناموجود، مبدل شدنی است.
March 13, 2017
حافظه انسان چیز خارقالعادها� است. اتفاقها در حافظه حتی دمی نمی پاید. این است که سعی در منظم کردن حوادث در ذهن و بازآفرینی آنها کاری است غیرممکن. از این حلقه زنجیر دانههای� می افتد، قسمتهایی با درخشش زنده به یاد میآید� اما بقیه درهم و برهم تکه و پاره است و در ذهن جز غبار و رگبار چیزی به جا نمیمان�.
از متن کتاب
از متن کتاب
August 19, 2024
ELITA CULTURALĂ SOVIETICĂ
Cea mai bună carte pe care am citit-o de Bulgakov, descrie dificultatea de a fi scriitor în epoca sovietică (sentiment pe care autorul îl cunoștea foarte bine) dar și superficialitatea criticilor și suficiența lor în fața acelor scriitori aspiranți care nu fac parte din cercul restrâns al celor unanim recunoscuți și aprobați.
Cea mai bună carte pe care am citit-o de Bulgakov, descrie dificultatea de a fi scriitor în epoca sovietică (sentiment pe care autorul îl cunoștea foarte bine) dar și superficialitatea criticilor și suficiența lor în fața acelor scriitori aspiranți care nu fac parte din cercul restrâns al celor unanim recunoscuți și aprobați.
July 13, 2015
Chronology
Introduction & Sources
A Note on the Text
Further Reading
--A Dead Man's Memoir (A Theatrical Novel)
Notes
Introduction & Sources
A Note on the Text
Further Reading
--A Dead Man's Memoir (A Theatrical Novel)
Notes
October 25, 2022
Brilliant, yet it does seem unfinished.
A plethora of hard to keep track of names.
More Bulgakov, now!
A plethora of hard to keep track of names.
More Bulgakov, now!
August 16, 2022
خود کتاب رو دوست داشتم ولی پایانبندی� بدترین چیزیه که به عمرم دیدم.
این تیکه� کتاب رو نگا: «ناگهان صدای بم و نرم و نازک مردی [...] به گوشم رسید» صدای بم و نرم و نازک😐😐
این تیکه� کتاب رو نگا: «ناگهان صدای بم و نرم و نازک مردی [...] به گوشم رسید» صدای بم و نرم و نازک😐😐
March 17, 2023
Ein Buch, das wie ein zukünftiges Lieblingsbuch beginnt und auf entlegenen Theaterbrettern in glitzernden Pfützen aus Langeweile endet.
Maksudow, schlafloser und erschöpfter Angestellter bei einem "Schifffahrtsbüro", schreibt einen Roman und möchte sich nach dem Verriss durch Bekannte suizidieren, was aber durch den Besuch des Teufels vereitelt wird, der ihm verspricht, sein Werk veröffentlichen zu wollen. Obacht, wenn dir der Teufel zu helfen verspricht!
Was wie ein Ozean der Anspielungen beginnt und eine stilistisch verspielte Groteske werden könnte, erlahmte für mich bald auf den Korridoren eines Theaters, wo Maksudows Roman eventuell aufgeführt werden könnte, sofern man denn die Horden der dort Beteiligten befriedigen und auf seine Seite ziehen könnte.
Bulgakow ist ein Meister der dynamischen Bilder, ohne Frage. Noch knapp 100 Jahre später haben seine Texte den ursprünglichen Drive bewahren können.
Wenn die Multitasking-Queen Polyxena gleichzeitig das Theatertelefon, eintrudelnde Bittsteller und Maksudows Manuskript betreuen kann, dann glüht Bulgakows Stil im polyphonen Sound. Das ist Literatur-Jazz, impulsiv, polyrhythmisch, leidenschaftlich. Auch mit dem menschenkundigen Filja, Schaltzentrale für Freikarten, hat Bulgakow eine starke Figur erschaffen, die mir lange im Gedächtnis bleiben wird.
Für dutzende Figuren gilt das allerdings nicht. Viel zu viele Namen und Funktionsträger reihen sich aneinander, ohne dass ersichtlich wäre, wie sie sich zu einer Geschichte verbinden könnten oder inwiefern diese Figuren (Schauspieler, Direktoren, Regisseure, Sekretärinnen, Dirigenten, Kritiker...) einen Bezugsrahmen aufspannen könnten, der über Bulgakows direkte Gegenwart hinaus Bestand haben kann.
Ich habe mich bei vielen Dialogen schrecklich gelangweilt.
Jetzt starte ich die "Weiße Garde", die seit drei Jahren in Reih und Glied bei mir steht.
Maksudow, schlafloser und erschöpfter Angestellter bei einem "Schifffahrtsbüro", schreibt einen Roman und möchte sich nach dem Verriss durch Bekannte suizidieren, was aber durch den Besuch des Teufels vereitelt wird, der ihm verspricht, sein Werk veröffentlichen zu wollen. Obacht, wenn dir der Teufel zu helfen verspricht!
Was wie ein Ozean der Anspielungen beginnt und eine stilistisch verspielte Groteske werden könnte, erlahmte für mich bald auf den Korridoren eines Theaters, wo Maksudows Roman eventuell aufgeführt werden könnte, sofern man denn die Horden der dort Beteiligten befriedigen und auf seine Seite ziehen könnte.
Bulgakow ist ein Meister der dynamischen Bilder, ohne Frage. Noch knapp 100 Jahre später haben seine Texte den ursprünglichen Drive bewahren können.
Wenn die Multitasking-Queen Polyxena gleichzeitig das Theatertelefon, eintrudelnde Bittsteller und Maksudows Manuskript betreuen kann, dann glüht Bulgakows Stil im polyphonen Sound. Das ist Literatur-Jazz, impulsiv, polyrhythmisch, leidenschaftlich. Auch mit dem menschenkundigen Filja, Schaltzentrale für Freikarten, hat Bulgakow eine starke Figur erschaffen, die mir lange im Gedächtnis bleiben wird.
Für dutzende Figuren gilt das allerdings nicht. Viel zu viele Namen und Funktionsträger reihen sich aneinander, ohne dass ersichtlich wäre, wie sie sich zu einer Geschichte verbinden könnten oder inwiefern diese Figuren (Schauspieler, Direktoren, Regisseure, Sekretärinnen, Dirigenten, Kritiker...) einen Bezugsrahmen aufspannen könnten, der über Bulgakows direkte Gegenwart hinaus Bestand haben kann.
Ich habe mich bei vielen Dialogen schrecklich gelangweilt.
Jetzt starte ich die "Weiße Garde", die seit drei Jahren in Reih und Glied bei mir steht.
February 1, 2022
My sweet delight author. ♥️
Reread. I love him even more after each other reading.
"I twice started on Lesosyekov's novel The Swans, each time getting as far as page forty-five, and then turning back to the beginning again, because I had forgotten what had happened. I began to feel really alarmed; my head seemed not to be functioning properly."
Reread. I love him even more after each other reading.
"I twice started on Lesosyekov's novel The Swans, each time getting as far as page forty-five, and then turning back to the beginning again, because I had forgotten what had happened. I began to feel really alarmed; my head seemed not to be functioning properly."
March 6, 2014
CENSORSHIP: When Maxudov's novel fails, he attempts suicide. When that fails, he dramatizes his novel. To Maxudov's surprise - and the resentment of literary Moscow - the play is accepted by the legendary Independent Theater, and Maxudov plunges into a vortex of inflated egos. Each rehearsal sees more and more sparks flying higher and higher and less and less chance of poor Maxudov's play ever being performed. Black Snow is the ultimate backstage novel and a brilliant satire on Mikhail Bulgakov's ten-year love-hate relationship with Stanislavsky, Method acting, and the Moscow Arts Theater.
After a lifetime spent struggling against censorship, not least in the theater, Bulgakov died in 1940, not long after completing his masterpiece, The Master and Margarita. None of his major fiction was published during his lifetime.
my coverTranslated by Michael Glenny.
Opening: On the 29th April Moscow was washed clean by a thunderstorm. The air was delightful; it mellowed the heart and made one want to start living again.
First read twenty odd years ago - where does time go!
November 26, 2024
Nel complesso sono felice di averlo letto, ho ritrovato molti dei guizzi di comicità che ricordavo di aver trovato in Cuore di cane e ne Il Maestro e Margherita; così come pure gli slanci di sincerità sgangherata della voce narrante, che non possono non far fare delle sonore risate. Tuttavia, resta pur sempre un'opera incompiuta, non soltanto perché manca di un finale vero e proprio, ma soprattutto perché manca di un certo tipo di revisione. E poi gli innumerevoli, infiniti infiniti riferimenti all'ambiente del Teatro di Mosca con cui Bulgakov intende polemizzare, anzi verso il quale l'autore vuole esprimere il suo rapporto di amore-odio: se non ci fossero le note sarebbero riferimenti impossibili da comprendere e così nel romanzo uno ci capirebbe meno di un decimo di quello che c'è da capire. Però interrompersi ogni cinque righe per andare a consultare le note, non è che sia poi quel gran divertimento, finisce per appesantire non poco la lettura. Ancora non so se mettere tre o quattro stelle. Tre sarebbero più aderenti al vero, più aderenti alla soddisfazione ricavata dalla lettura e alla media matematica tra i pregi e i difetti. Poi forse finirò per arrotondare a quattro per il puro affetto verso l'autore. Comunque, tra le sue tante opere, non che questa rappresenti un di più, ma certo non è quella con cui iniziare se non si conosce l'autore.
Inizio a leggere e si rivela il solito manicomio a cui è abituato chi ha già letto Bulgakov. E che il diavolo mi porti se non ci si sguazza, in un manicomio così. Quindi procedo di buon grado.
A dire il vero, l'espediente narrativo dello scrittore che riceve un manoscritto e lo pubblica così com'è, e bla e bla e bla, andava bene con Manzoni ma ormai è una roba vecchia come l'Arca di Noè. E del resto, sappiamo i problemi che c'erano quando Bulgakov pubblicava - o meglio, cercava di pubblicare - le sue opere, ma dubito che questi espedienti potessero essere di effettivo aiuto.
La ridda di personaggi è a dir poco copiosa, dall'inizio alla fine vengono sparati come una raffica di mitraglia, e per non perdermi ad un certo punto ho dovuto iniziare a segnarmeli:
Griša Ajvazovskij - capo sezione letteraria coorte
Miša Panin - responsabile sezione letteraria
Ivan Vasil'evič - direttore teatro
Pëtr Petrovič - amministratore teatro
Osip Ivanič - attore
Anton Antonovič Krjaževič - responsabile accettazione nuovi drammi
Gavril Stepanovič - vice direttore
ecc. ecc.
Noto poi una certa aria di vecchiume che si rivela essere alquanto ottocentesco pur essendo il racconto ambientato in epoca moderna, ma a ben vedere è un'aria troppo dostoevskijana per non lasciarsi amare. Tanto per dirne una, la stanzetta in cui vive il protagonista Maksudov, nella mia immaginazione, l'ho vista tale e quale a quella in cui vive il protagonista di Umiliati e offesi.
Dopo un lungo preambolo (fino al capitolo 8) ecco emergere il vero e attualissimo tema del romanzo: l'ubriacatura, il senso di ebbrezza di fronte allo spalancarsi di concrete possibilità di fama e successo. Il vuoto mentale che segue questo innamoramento e la conseguente crisi di idee e il blocco della creatività. Il rapporto quasi malsano dell'artista con il successo: una cosa temuta eppure necessaria, agognata e al tempo stesso detestabile. L'artista crea la sua opera ma poi deve lasciarla andare in giro per il mondo e ancor peggio vederla manipolata dagli uni, modificata dagli altri, criticata da altri ancora. Eppure, se l'avesse tenuta solo per sé, che opera d'arte sarebbe? Contraddizioni apparentemente insanabili. Il senso di dipendenza, come con una droga: l'essere disposti a tutto pur di non essere cacciati da quel mondo che si ama e si odia al tempo stesso. In generale, e per quanto in maniera ironica e strampalata, vi si espone tutto il dramma interiore dello scrittore (dell'artista). Anzi, c'è il connubio perfetto tra il dramma interiore (che è cosa quanto mai reale e realistica e attuale) e una comicità dell'assurdo fatta di demenzialità che non stanno né in cielo né in terra. I gatti che spricciano in ogni dove - interno ed esterno, giorno e notte - son tanto più spassosi in quando assurdi. Sono come i vermi ed i salami e le matite piantate per terra nei fumetti di Jacovitti. La palma d'oro della comicità va a parimerito al gatto arrampicato sulla tenda di tulle e all'orso bruno impagliato con le lampadine al posto degli occhi.
Ma poi, a parte il dramma interiore dell'artista (scrittore), di cosa altro diavolo vuol parlare questo romanzo? Non c'è dubbio che sia un'opera fortemente autobiografica (e come detto all'inizio, senza le numerose note sarebbe impossibile cogliere tutti i riferimenti). E riflettendo meglio, mi accorgo che questa è autofiction ante litteram: insomma è una cosa vecchia ma al tempo stesso più attuale di così non si può.
Altre note interessanti le ricopio leggendo le recensioni di @lunadigiorno che lo definisce "pirandelliano, favolistico e malinconico come un quadro di Chagall" e di @viducoli che scrive "La vicenda del debuttante Maksudov che entra nel mondo culturale moscovita scrivendo un romanzo ed un dramma teatrale, trovandosi ben presto avvolto nell'assurdità del clima culturale dell'epoca e circondato da "colleghi" accucciati al potere e pronti a pugnalarlo alle spalle, deve essere letta appunto come una satira feroce del rapporto tra l'artista e il potere, nonché della meschinità di gran parte dell'intellettualità russa del tempo."
Inizio a leggere e si rivela il solito manicomio a cui è abituato chi ha già letto Bulgakov. E che il diavolo mi porti se non ci si sguazza, in un manicomio così. Quindi procedo di buon grado.
A dire il vero, l'espediente narrativo dello scrittore che riceve un manoscritto e lo pubblica così com'è, e bla e bla e bla, andava bene con Manzoni ma ormai è una roba vecchia come l'Arca di Noè. E del resto, sappiamo i problemi che c'erano quando Bulgakov pubblicava - o meglio, cercava di pubblicare - le sue opere, ma dubito che questi espedienti potessero essere di effettivo aiuto.
La ridda di personaggi è a dir poco copiosa, dall'inizio alla fine vengono sparati come una raffica di mitraglia, e per non perdermi ad un certo punto ho dovuto iniziare a segnarmeli:
Griša Ajvazovskij - capo sezione letteraria coorte
Miša Panin - responsabile sezione letteraria
Ivan Vasil'evič - direttore teatro
Pëtr Petrovič - amministratore teatro
Osip Ivanič - attore
Anton Antonovič Krjaževič - responsabile accettazione nuovi drammi
Gavril Stepanovič - vice direttore
ecc. ecc.
Noto poi una certa aria di vecchiume che si rivela essere alquanto ottocentesco pur essendo il racconto ambientato in epoca moderna, ma a ben vedere è un'aria troppo dostoevskijana per non lasciarsi amare. Tanto per dirne una, la stanzetta in cui vive il protagonista Maksudov, nella mia immaginazione, l'ho vista tale e quale a quella in cui vive il protagonista di Umiliati e offesi.
Dopo un lungo preambolo (fino al capitolo 8) ecco emergere il vero e attualissimo tema del romanzo: l'ubriacatura, il senso di ebbrezza di fronte allo spalancarsi di concrete possibilità di fama e successo. Il vuoto mentale che segue questo innamoramento e la conseguente crisi di idee e il blocco della creatività. Il rapporto quasi malsano dell'artista con il successo: una cosa temuta eppure necessaria, agognata e al tempo stesso detestabile. L'artista crea la sua opera ma poi deve lasciarla andare in giro per il mondo e ancor peggio vederla manipolata dagli uni, modificata dagli altri, criticata da altri ancora. Eppure, se l'avesse tenuta solo per sé, che opera d'arte sarebbe? Contraddizioni apparentemente insanabili. Il senso di dipendenza, come con una droga: l'essere disposti a tutto pur di non essere cacciati da quel mondo che si ama e si odia al tempo stesso. In generale, e per quanto in maniera ironica e strampalata, vi si espone tutto il dramma interiore dello scrittore (dell'artista). Anzi, c'è il connubio perfetto tra il dramma interiore (che è cosa quanto mai reale e realistica e attuale) e una comicità dell'assurdo fatta di demenzialità che non stanno né in cielo né in terra. I gatti che spricciano in ogni dove - interno ed esterno, giorno e notte - son tanto più spassosi in quando assurdi. Sono come i vermi ed i salami e le matite piantate per terra nei fumetti di Jacovitti. La palma d'oro della comicità va a parimerito al gatto arrampicato sulla tenda di tulle e all'orso bruno impagliato con le lampadine al posto degli occhi.
Ma poi, a parte il dramma interiore dell'artista (scrittore), di cosa altro diavolo vuol parlare questo romanzo? Non c'è dubbio che sia un'opera fortemente autobiografica (e come detto all'inizio, senza le numerose note sarebbe impossibile cogliere tutti i riferimenti). E riflettendo meglio, mi accorgo che questa è autofiction ante litteram: insomma è una cosa vecchia ma al tempo stesso più attuale di così non si può.
Altre note interessanti le ricopio leggendo le recensioni di @lunadigiorno che lo definisce "pirandelliano, favolistico e malinconico come un quadro di Chagall" e di @viducoli che scrive "La vicenda del debuttante Maksudov che entra nel mondo culturale moscovita scrivendo un romanzo ed un dramma teatrale, trovandosi ben presto avvolto nell'assurdità del clima culturale dell'epoca e circondato da "colleghi" accucciati al potere e pronti a pugnalarlo alle spalle, deve essere letta appunto come una satira feroce del rapporto tra l'artista e il potere, nonché della meschinità di gran parte dell'intellettualità russa del tempo."
September 19, 2008
Black Snow is a novel by Mikhail Bulgakov. This apparent platitude is full of contradiction. The book is perhaps better described as an autobiographical episode, with Bulgakov renamed as the book’s central character, Maxudov. It’s also a satire in which the characters are precise, exact and often vicious caricatures of Bulgakov’s colleagues and acquaintances in the between-the-wars Moscow Arts Theatre, including the legendary Stanislawsky. In some ways, Black Snow is a history of Bulgakov’s greatest success, the novel The White Guard, which the theatre company adapted for the stage under the title The Days of the Turbins. The play ran for close to a thousand performances, including one staged for an audience of a single person, one Josef Stalin who, perhaps luckily for Bulgakov, liked it.
Black Snow is also a sideways look at the creative process, itself. Maxudov is a journalist with The Shipping Times and hates the monotony and predictability of his work. Privately he creates a new world by writing a novel in which the author can imagine transcending the mundane. But the product of this and all creation is useless unless it is shared. Only then can it exist. Only then can the author’s relief from the self he cannot live with be realised. But when no-one publishes the novel, when no-one shows the slightest interest in it, the author is left only with the isolation that inspired the book, but now this is an amplified isolation and more devastating for it. So he attempts suicide. But he is such an incompetent that he fails. It’s the same middle class Russian incompetence that Chekhov celebrated in Uncle Vanya where no-one seems able to aim a shot.
But then this unpublished book is seen by others, for whom it seems to mean something quite different from the author’s intention. Instead of a novel, they see it as a play. They ask for a re-write, complete with changes of both plot and setting. Effectively, the only way the work can have its own life, its own existence, is for it to become something that denies the author’s own intentions and thus nullifies the reason for writing it. And so Maxudov goes along with things and thus in effect he is back again doing what he does for The Shipping Times, in that he is writing things that others want.
And here is where Black Snow becomes a parody of what was happening later in Bulgakov’s own career. He wanted to write a play about censorship and control. This, obviously, was impossible in Stalin’s Soviet Union, so he set the play in France, basing it upon the historical reality of Moliere. After four years of tying to prepare the play for performance what finally emerged was a costume drama from which all allusions to censorship had been removed or watered down. So Bulgakov’s intended comment on Soviet society was lost. And the play flopped.
So the satirical caricatures are truly vicious. We have an impresario who is incapable of remembering the playwright’s name. We have the opinionated arty intellectual, full of biting criticism and dismissive posturing until he realises he is speaking to the author and then he does an instant, blushing volte-face. We have a character that is so sure about every detail of organisation and experience that they are almost always wrong.
Ultimately, Black Snow is about a creative process where a writer can create whatever is imaginable. But then in communicating it, the receivers change it, transform it into what they want it to be. The writer makes the snow black, the recipients read it as black but change it to white and then probably argue whether it has already turned to rain. Black Snow is an enigmatic, super-real and surreal satire.
Black Snow is also a sideways look at the creative process, itself. Maxudov is a journalist with The Shipping Times and hates the monotony and predictability of his work. Privately he creates a new world by writing a novel in which the author can imagine transcending the mundane. But the product of this and all creation is useless unless it is shared. Only then can it exist. Only then can the author’s relief from the self he cannot live with be realised. But when no-one publishes the novel, when no-one shows the slightest interest in it, the author is left only with the isolation that inspired the book, but now this is an amplified isolation and more devastating for it. So he attempts suicide. But he is such an incompetent that he fails. It’s the same middle class Russian incompetence that Chekhov celebrated in Uncle Vanya where no-one seems able to aim a shot.
But then this unpublished book is seen by others, for whom it seems to mean something quite different from the author’s intention. Instead of a novel, they see it as a play. They ask for a re-write, complete with changes of both plot and setting. Effectively, the only way the work can have its own life, its own existence, is for it to become something that denies the author’s own intentions and thus nullifies the reason for writing it. And so Maxudov goes along with things and thus in effect he is back again doing what he does for The Shipping Times, in that he is writing things that others want.
And here is where Black Snow becomes a parody of what was happening later in Bulgakov’s own career. He wanted to write a play about censorship and control. This, obviously, was impossible in Stalin’s Soviet Union, so he set the play in France, basing it upon the historical reality of Moliere. After four years of tying to prepare the play for performance what finally emerged was a costume drama from which all allusions to censorship had been removed or watered down. So Bulgakov’s intended comment on Soviet society was lost. And the play flopped.
So the satirical caricatures are truly vicious. We have an impresario who is incapable of remembering the playwright’s name. We have the opinionated arty intellectual, full of biting criticism and dismissive posturing until he realises he is speaking to the author and then he does an instant, blushing volte-face. We have a character that is so sure about every detail of organisation and experience that they are almost always wrong.
Ultimately, Black Snow is about a creative process where a writer can create whatever is imaginable. But then in communicating it, the receivers change it, transform it into what they want it to be. The writer makes the snow black, the recipients read it as black but change it to white and then probably argue whether it has already turned to rain. Black Snow is an enigmatic, super-real and surreal satire.
March 30, 2023
As someone with a Masters in Russian and having read a great deal of Russian literature, including other works by Bulgakov, I found "Black Snow" to be a good, but not great, read. While it has a lot of Bulgakov's wit and dark humor, I didn't enjoy it as much as his other works in terms of depth. The main character, Sergei Leontiev, is often somewhat of a passive pawn. Additionally, while the novel's critique of Soviet censorship and bureaucracy is admirable, it can at times feel simplistic. Perhaps the setting of describing the Russian theatre environment was a struggle for me to really enjoy thi novel to its fullest. Overall, while "Black Snow" is a decent read for fans of Bulgakov or Russian literature, it doesn't quite reach the heights of his other works like "The Master and Margarita" or "Heart of a Dog."
December 26, 2024
Non si vola
No, decisamente non è Il Maestro e Margherita. Non si vola sui tetti di Mosca con Margherita, non c’� una crew diabolica, non c’� l’amore bellissimo tra M&M, non c’� la storia parallela di Yehousha.
E sì, Bulgakov è un grande scrittore, per cui comunque si rende omaggio a come anche qui ha messo su carta la sua battaglia solitaria contro un potere costituito, in questo caso chi monopolizzava la scena teatrale russa di inizio novecento; a come ha rappresentato, teatralmente direi, quel mondo, con vena comica; e per come ci fa sentire umanamente vicini alla vita derelitta, controcorrente, solitaria e malinconica, del protagonista, che altri non è che Bulgakov stesso.
No, decisamente non è Il Maestro e Margherita. Non si vola sui tetti di Mosca con Margherita, non c’� una crew diabolica, non c’� l’amore bellissimo tra M&M, non c’� la storia parallela di Yehousha.
E sì, Bulgakov è un grande scrittore, per cui comunque si rende omaggio a come anche qui ha messo su carta la sua battaglia solitaria contro un potere costituito, in questo caso chi monopolizzava la scena teatrale russa di inizio novecento; a come ha rappresentato, teatralmente direi, quel mondo, con vena comica; e per come ci fa sentire umanamente vicini alla vita derelitta, controcorrente, solitaria e malinconica, del protagonista, che altri non è che Bulgakov stesso.
July 8, 2011
There are some oppressive regimes (well, most of them) where it’s not a good idea to be a wit. Like Burma, for example, where two comedians were sentenced to twenty years hard labour for, um . . . telling jokes. Or, as Bulgakov learned the hard way, when Stalin is King and Russia is tooling up for another war. Black Snow is about censorship but mainly about the inner workings of the Moscow Theatre, how Stanislavsky was a fraud, and how being a playwright in Stalinist Russia was harder than swallowing a church.
The narrator is a suicidal and callow writer who grumbles his way through the Russian theatrical elite, dodging censorship, criticism and resentment at every turn. As a satire on the writing life it’s pitch-black, as a cock-snook at stage pretention it packs a wallop. Modern shows such as or Annie Griffin’s Coming Soon flesh out the ideas explored, showing great comedy does stand the test of time.
The novel is unfinished and the ending is tacked-on, but be fair, the writer was scheduled to die in a few weeks.
The narrator is a suicidal and callow writer who grumbles his way through the Russian theatrical elite, dodging censorship, criticism and resentment at every turn. As a satire on the writing life it’s pitch-black, as a cock-snook at stage pretention it packs a wallop. Modern shows such as or Annie Griffin’s Coming Soon flesh out the ideas explored, showing great comedy does stand the test of time.
The novel is unfinished and the ending is tacked-on, but be fair, the writer was scheduled to die in a few weeks.
December 6, 2023
خوانش اول : آذرماه ۱۴۰۲
"این بازی صفحهه� را تا ابد میش� تماشا کرد... اما چطور میش� این تصاویر کوچک را ثابت نگاه داشت تا نتوانند از دستم بگریزند؟" (جادوی خلق نمایش)
"میشا خنده ی شگفتانگیز� داشت، "اهه، اهه، اهه، اهه!" وقتی میز� زیر خنده، همه خاموش میشدن�. خندها� که تمام میشد� آرام میگرف� و انگار چند سال پیر میش�."
"نه، نباید تسلیم شوی. موضوع سر این است که نمیدان� تئاتر یعنی چه. مجموعهها� پیچیدها� در این دنیا وجود دارد، اما تئاتر از همه پیچیدهت� است..."
"ادامه دادیم و هوا تاریک شده بود که با صدای خشدار� گفتم : "پایان"
بیدرن� بیم و نومیدی سراپایم را فرا گرفت. حس میکرد� که خانه ی کوچکی ساختها� و همین که وارد آن شدهام� سقفش فروریخته.
خواندن متن که تمام شد، ایوان واسیلیهوی� گفت :" بسیار خب، حالا باید کار روی متن را شروع کنیم."
میخواست� فریاد بزنم :"چه؟"
اما این کار را نکردم."
دو روییها� تغییر رفتارها� جادوی آفریدن، افکار مالیخویایی، تنهایی، دوام آوردن در میان گرگه�.
بولگاکف آثار و مفاهیم ثقیل رمانها� روسی به زبانی حتی ملموست� و قابل دسترس تر از داستایوفسکی بیان میکن� و این رمان به طور قطع از محبوبتری� آثار وی برای من خواهد بود.
و ترجمه ی احمد پوری به شدت زیبا بود و میش� فهمید مقصود بولگاکف به خوبی بیان شده.
"این بازی صفحهه� را تا ابد میش� تماشا کرد... اما چطور میش� این تصاویر کوچک را ثابت نگاه داشت تا نتوانند از دستم بگریزند؟" (جادوی خلق نمایش)
"میشا خنده ی شگفتانگیز� داشت، "اهه، اهه، اهه، اهه!" وقتی میز� زیر خنده، همه خاموش میشدن�. خندها� که تمام میشد� آرام میگرف� و انگار چند سال پیر میش�."
"نه، نباید تسلیم شوی. موضوع سر این است که نمیدان� تئاتر یعنی چه. مجموعهها� پیچیدها� در این دنیا وجود دارد، اما تئاتر از همه پیچیدهت� است..."
"ادامه دادیم و هوا تاریک شده بود که با صدای خشدار� گفتم : "پایان"
بیدرن� بیم و نومیدی سراپایم را فرا گرفت. حس میکرد� که خانه ی کوچکی ساختها� و همین که وارد آن شدهام� سقفش فروریخته.
خواندن متن که تمام شد، ایوان واسیلیهوی� گفت :" بسیار خب، حالا باید کار روی متن را شروع کنیم."
میخواست� فریاد بزنم :"چه؟"
اما این کار را نکردم."
دو روییها� تغییر رفتارها� جادوی آفریدن، افکار مالیخویایی، تنهایی، دوام آوردن در میان گرگه�.
بولگاکف آثار و مفاهیم ثقیل رمانها� روسی به زبانی حتی ملموست� و قابل دسترس تر از داستایوفسکی بیان میکن� و این رمان به طور قطع از محبوبتری� آثار وی برای من خواهد بود.
و ترجمه ی احمد پوری به شدت زیبا بود و میش� فهمید مقصود بولگاکف به خوبی بیان شده.
May 14, 2015
Bulgakov's 'theatrical novel' Black Snow introduces the reader to the unfortunate Maxudov, whose efforts to publish a book, and later to turn that same book (based on his own suicide attempt) into a play, are met with varying degrees of contempt, incompetence and unhelpful interference from the literary contingent of Moscow. It's a typically Russian novel: it feels more modern than it has any right to, brims with sarcastic wit, and is often morbid. It's years since I read , and I'd forgotten how exuberant and funny Bulgakov was. It's amusing in its own right, but also works as a biting satirical take on Soviet censorship: Maxudov finds his work altered beyond recognition, then stifled by endless rehearsals which go nowhere, leading, ultimately, to a tragic conclusion. But Black Snow was unfinished at the time of the author's death, and feels like it, with an abrupt and unsatisfying ending. The book I read felt like the bones of a greater Black Snow that was never written.
August 27, 2018
+++اما ناگهان... آه از این وازه لعنتی!... تا دم مرگ هراس ناگفتنی و لگام گسیخته ای از این واژه همراهم خواهد بود. از این واژه به اندازه عبارت های "حدس بزن چه؟" ، "تلفن با شما کار دارد!" ، "تلگرافی برایتان رسیده" و "لطفا سری به اداره بزنید" وحشت دارم. خوب می دانم پشت سر این واژه ها چه نهفته است..
کتاب "برف سیاه" نوشته "میخائیل بولگاکف" است. نویسنده مانند آثار دیگرش، در این اثر نیز به انتقاد از فضای هنری مسکوی زمان خود پرداخته است.
مساله ایی که بولگاکف در این کتاب به آن می پردازد همان مساله ایی است که نویسنده در زمان حیات بسیار با آن درگیر بوده؛ یعنی سانسور در دنیای هنر.
"مقصودف" نویسنده ایی است نوپا که در حال نوشتن یک رمان است که پس از اتمام با انتقاد تند اطرافانش مواجه می شود.. پس از مدتی با "تئاتر مستقل" قرارداد می بندد تا رمانش تبدیل به نمایشنامه شود اما در آن ها نمایشنامه خو را دستخوش تغییر و تحولاتی سلیقه ایی می بیند.. درمندگی و ناامیدی که برای "مقصودف" بوجود ما آید همان تاثیری است که برای یک هنرمند در چنین فضایی رخ می دهد..
من این کتاب را با ترجمه (احمد پوری) که نشر چشمه به چاپ رسانده، خواندم.
کتاب "برف سیاه" نوشته "میخائیل بولگاکف" است. نویسنده مانند آثار دیگرش، در این اثر نیز به انتقاد از فضای هنری مسکوی زمان خود پرداخته است.
مساله ایی که بولگاکف در این کتاب به آن می پردازد همان مساله ایی است که نویسنده در زمان حیات بسیار با آن درگیر بوده؛ یعنی سانسور در دنیای هنر.
"مقصودف" نویسنده ایی است نوپا که در حال نوشتن یک رمان است که پس از اتمام با انتقاد تند اطرافانش مواجه می شود.. پس از مدتی با "تئاتر مستقل" قرارداد می بندد تا رمانش تبدیل به نمایشنامه شود اما در آن ها نمایشنامه خو را دستخوش تغییر و تحولاتی سلیقه ایی می بیند.. درمندگی و ناامیدی که برای "مقصودف" بوجود ما آید همان تاثیری است که برای یک هنرمند در چنین فضایی رخ می دهد..
من این کتاب را با ترجمه (احمد پوری) که نشر چشمه به چاپ رسانده، خواندم.
June 17, 2013
It may be heretical to muse along these lines, but I was heartened to imagine what would've been the result of a collaboration between Mikhail Bulgakov and Preston Sturges. My mind's eye sees something similar to 42d Street but with Joel McCrea in the lead as a struggling playwright, Barbara Stanwyck vamping her way into the production, causing the author to rewrite and ruin his artistic vision. The NKVD (led by William Demarest) will undoubtedly swoop in during the final reel. A pipe and mustache have the last laugh.
While reading this unfinished farce, I was viewing a few episodes of the 2005 Russian miniseries of The Master and Margarita . Even at the gravest of junctures, there is always humor. A quip can be made while fearing the late night knock on the door.
This is a very incomplete work which festers and taunts. There is a vein of promise which alas will never be realized.
2.5/5
While reading this unfinished farce, I was viewing a few episodes of the 2005 Russian miniseries of The Master and Margarita . Even at the gravest of junctures, there is always humor. A quip can be made while fearing the late night knock on the door.
This is a very incomplete work which festers and taunts. There is a vein of promise which alas will never be realized.
2.5/5
May 4, 2021
3,49
Попаднал съм в капана на озни момент, когато свикваш със стила на автора и започваш да го ощетяваш в оценката си.
Супер забавна история, макар случващото се в нея да докарва до отчаяние главния герой.
Опит да се постави "съвременна пиеса" в титанично парализиран (до степен на щура и абсурдна комедия) в "принципите си" театър.
Краят ми се стори като рязко и изрязано прекъсване, жалко, защото ме лиши от удоволствието на чудесната история.
Попаднал съм в капана на озни момент, когато свикваш със стила на автора и започваш да го ощетяваш в оценката си.
Супер забавна история, макар случващото се в нея да докарва до отчаяние главния герой.
Опит да се постави "съвременна пиеса" в титанично парализиран (до степен на щура и абсурдна комедия) в "принципите си" театър.
Краят ми се стори като рязко и изрязано прекъсване, жалко, защото ме лиши от удоволствието на чудесната история.
December 1, 2024
آثار بولگاکوف واقعا لذت بخشه... جذابیت توصیفات حتی وقتی داره از مشکلاتی که برای خودش پیش اومده مینویسه... فضاسازی های بکر، شخصیت پردازی قوی، اتفاقات عجیب و غریب...
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