Lyrics for baritone

Viktor Neborak is a poet who can justly be referred to as one of the contemporary classics. At one time he, Yurii Andrukhovych, and Oleksandr Irvanets founded a most prestigious literary association known as Bu-Ba-Bu. He became its Leopolitan representative. Not so long ago, Neborak published the book Virshi z vulytsi Vyhovskoho (Poems from Vyhovsky St.). Many a reader and critic describe it as something quite unexpected in terms of style.

A few words about your new book. Did you conceive it as a whole project or was it a compilation of poems written over a certain period of time?

Neborak: “Poems from Vyhovsky St. is a vers libre book except for two poems. One is written in blank verse and entitled ‘Sumiattia’ (Turmoil). It is dedicated to Kost Moskalets. The second one is in iamb. It is entitled ‘The Rock,’ and is a variation on Ivan Franko’s Stonemasons where everything is the other way around. Two vers libres are reprinted from previous publications: ‘What Does a Saturday Look Like?’ from the book Alter Ego (1993), and ‘The Actor’ from Povtorennia istorii (Repeated Stories, 2005). The rest was written in 2005-09. Some of the poems were carried by the journals Suchasnist and Kurier Kryvbasu. About half the texts are in print for the first time. Of course, I tried to compile a book of verse, rather than a collection, and convey my perception of our politicized turbulent times. That was probably why I wrote as clearly as I could, so as not to let that outside turbidity into my verse. It was important for me to respond to what was happening around me while retaining myself, without turning into a man of the crowd or a weirdo trying to escape social irritants by indulging in his ravings. In ‘The Message from the Maidan’ I repeat the word ‘boys’ several times, referring to the addressee of the message. My ‘boys’ sounds friendly, albeit with a touch of irony. That’s the way to address street acquaintances, schoolmates, fellow students, and colleagues with whom you’re on friendly terms, as well as friends, even strangers with whom you don’t want to have any misgivings left. It is hard to imagine this form of address in official communications, but the paradox is that almost all Ukrainian men tend to behave like boys rather than adults. We love to have a good time (especially at someone else’s expense), and hate being tasked with a job or reminded to honor our commitments. We believe in Lady Fate — in other words, we tend to rely on good luck — and we don’t trust mathematics. We love to enjoy ourselves and can’t figure out where our problems come from. This is also true of men in power, who are riding the crest of some or other political wave. Anyway, Poems from Vyhovsky St. is not only an attempt to figure out where we boys have found out about ourselves and what we’re supposed to do about it. You can find a description of the shakes game, a reference to the death tango in the Yanivka concentration camp, and a vers libre carol.”

Your Poems from Vyhovsky St. seems to be more in the minor key than other books. Why?

N.: “The most optimistic book is Litaiucha holova (The Flying Head, 1990), while the next one, Alter Ego (1993), is devoid of that carnival atmosphere, excessive metaphors and changing rhythms. These two books were written almost simultaneously. Like many other authors, I have several ‘data accumulation and processing units.’ With creative people this can evolve into a ‘multistation line’ and varying styles. Some may feel ashamed of being jacks of all trades. Others (I’m one of them) muster the courage to offer their endeavors in various genres and styles to their readers. Stylistically, the Poems… is a sequel to Alter Ego. Quite honestly, consider the Polish poet Tadeusz Rozewicz to be my teacher here. Among the Ukrainian poets who are close to the Kyiv school and who wrote nonmetaphorical vers libres, I’d mention Vasyl Ruban. Also, I don’t think that the Poems… is that much in the minor key. Perhaps this impression is the result of creative restraint. I have lyrics for orchestra, choir, and four singers, whereas the Poems… is for a solo performer, say a baritone with a certain range of modulations. Sounds from the street, minstrels playing are part of the accompaniment.”

What about Bu-Ba-Bu? What does it mean for you personally, what prompted you to combine efforts with Yurii Andrukhovych and Oleksandr Irvanets? Any other joint projects in the offing?

N.: “Everything I’ve said and written about Bu-Ba-Bu doesn’t seem to have received proper public response. OK, I’ll use this occasion and remind that there is Vasyl Habor’s anthology entitled ‘Bu-Ba-Bu. Selected Works’ (Lviv, 2007). You can find answers to your questions there. We launched this book in a number of Ukrainian cities. That was our most recent joint project. Andrukhovych and Irvanets continue to amaze their readers with unconventional approaches. Yurii, for example, organizes jazz and recital tours, while Oleksandr writes his works, does literary translations, and lectures at the Ostroh Academy. We share impressions after reading each other’s books. Most of these impressions are positive. As for joint projects, I’d have nothing against a musical, an opera or movie based on our works, even an entertainment center, a Bubabuland of sorts. Organizing a literary tour would be the easiest, but the times have changed and Ukrainians are used to all kinds of public projects. Thus, a tour like that would take a producer, but we haven’t received any such offers. Once we have an offer from a smart producer, we’ll negotiate a deal. Well, nothing like that has happened in the past twenty-five years, so we’ve had to be our own producers, apparently amateurish ones.”

Talking of joint projects. Back in the 1980s and 1990s contacts between rock bands and poets were markedly closer, plenty of poems of that period turned into songs. Why is the situation different now?

N.: “My poems became songs because my musician friends used them as lyrics. Most such recordings were done by Viktor Mozhovy, rock bands Plach Yeremii and Mertvy Piven. There were other cases of creative collaboration. In fact, I have no idea about some of them. I won’t pretend that I’m not interested in being rewarded for my lyrics being used by composers and performers. Anyway, I’m paid very seldom. Commercial songs are produced using different patterns in which I’m not included. Anyway, such is the case with me. I’m sure that neither Natalka Bilotserkivets nor Ivan Malkovych write for Taisia Povalii or Slavko Vakarchuk.”

Can you think of ways to make contemporary Ukrainian literature more accessible to the broad reading circles, as was the case with Ukrainian literature in the 20th century, or with classical literature?

N.: “Regrettably, there are almost no positive examples of the popularization of contemporary and classical literature. We haven’t gone any further than jubilees — provided we have budget appropriations that are used extremely inefficiently. Shevchenko is comparatively lucky in this sense. His works have been popularized almost on the kitsch level. Here we have transformations and interpretations, including animated cartoons and rock bands. Ivan Franko is starting to move in the same direction, although in a developed culture there should be at least five screen versions of works like Zakhar Berkut. Thank God for Paradzhanov’s Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors and Illenko’s The Forest Song. But what about Andrukhovych’s Recreations, Vynnychuk’s How to get to Ratville?, Shkliar’s The Key, stories by Yevhenia Kononenko, Tania Maliarchuk, and other contemporary authors? We all know the condition of our filmmaking industry, but we have television with all those series being played. When are we going to watch series about the Ukrainian Sixtiers? No one knows. Without this there will be no popularization of Ukrainian literature on a broad public scale.”

Finally, what would you recommend to our readers? How to hold the fort in the current sociopolitical situation when everybody and everything seems to be against us?

N.: “Well, actually, lots of things are in our favor, including our age-old tradition of relying on our own resources in any circumstances, those before us who wouldn’t buy promises to instantly turn Ukraine into a fairy-tale Trypillia country with rivers of milk and honey, and simply went about their work. Today our big and small rivers are filled with industrial waste and are graphic proof of how much we love our Mother Nature. My recommendation is to do what anyone can do without exerting much of an effort: refrain from dropping litter and tidy up your land where and whenever you can. To extend this recommendation to the cultural sphere, one ought to refrain from acting in an aggressive way, neutralize aggressive individuals by ignoring them — and all those information vampires. I believe that ignoring and evading harmful decisions is better than staging mass rallies of protest. Boycott is one of our powerful Ukrainian weapons, something we have almost entirely forgotten. Of course, training one’s memory would be useful, lest one fail to tell friend from foe. This is more complicated. To improve their memory, Ukrainians will have to control their consumption of alcoholic beverages, read clever books with hundreds of pages, study foreign languages, improve their Ukrainian…”