Kuzminsky’s anthology, the first volume of a projected five, places before us a variety of Soviet poets who have not been published in the USSR except in samizdat. That is, some have published children’s literature (Xolin, Sagpir, Satunovskij) or officially acceptable poems (Gorbovskij), but what is published here represents a side of their work not officially condoned. Most have been published in the West to some extent already, chiefly in Apollon-77 (Paris, 1977) but a few for the first time. Kuzminsky is de facto editor of the series, although he generously gives equal billing to Kovalev, the blind Leningrad poetry collector who inspired him to the task.

There is no need for me to give an evaluation of the ultimate worth of the poems and authors which would be premature and doubtless subjective, and I will not attempt one. I have my favorites, others leave me indifferent, but there is nothing here that is bad or worthless. The editor’s selection may be biased to some extent, but if this and later volumes do not include all the good poetry available, it will not be from lack of good will on the part of the editor. In any case, what passes muster here is certainly respectable and a tribute to the broad tastes of Kuzminsky, an important poet in his own right.

Styles range from the Blokian romanticism of Roal’d Mandel’stam (surprisingly one of Kuzminsky’s favorites), and the religiosity of Tajgin, to the neo-futurism of Ajgi and Xudjakov. The most space is given to four poets: Vladimir Ufljand, Mixail Eremin, Aleksandr Kondratov, and Gleb Gorbovskij. Ufljand has had a nearly exhaustive collection of poems published recently (Teksty 1955-1977 [Ann Arbor: Ardis, 1978]) which is duplicated here to a great extent, though each collection has about a half-dozen poems absent in the other. Gorbovskij, a member of the Writers Union, has been published officially, but the selections here, including the renowned “Kvartira No. 6,” are of the sort not likely to meet official approval any time soon. These two poets share a down-to-earth language and orientation that gives them an immediate appeal as they turn the mundane prose of Soviet life into lyrics. Behind Eremin and Kondratov stands the benefic shade of Xlebnikov and with this, a great deal more verbal gymnastics and abstraction. While Kondratov takes his cue more obviously from Xlebnikov, Eremin’s typically eight-line poems, which sometimes involve Hindi or Japanese script or his own modern hieroglyphics (all glossed, fortunately), are much more intellectually challenging.

Many of the remaining poets (in addition to Ufljand) also make appearances in Apollon-77: Stas Krasovickij, Roal’d Mandel’stam, Evgenij Kropivnickij, Genrix Sagpir, Jan Satunovskij, Oleg Prokof’ev, Vsevolod Nekrasov, and Genrix Xudkajov, but only in the case of Satunovskij and Nekrasov is there substantial duplication. Apollon-77 is a brilliant supplement to the present volume, but less affordable ($91).

Kuzminsky himself is very much present in his anthology, more so than the usual compiler who may provide merely an introduction. Rather, while it is never forgotten that what counts most is “his poets,” he provides, as he put it, “the glue” that binds them together into a volume. The kind of glue he provides ranges from the biographical (though this is often entrusted to others such as Eduard Limonov) to the anecdotal, to passages that seem to be merely otsebjatina. All of this is frequently as fascinating and valuable as the poetry itself. Kuzminsky gives us a multi-faceted inside view of the life-style, mannerisms, and agonies of the poets in this artistic underworld which he knows so well. It is often a grimy, ugly picture. Alcohol plays a big, undisguised, indeed glorified part in it. But there is also a mutual sympathy, support, and ready camaraderie there that is missing in Western literary circles and for that matter in Soviet official circles, too. It is so attractive that one diplomat is described as being literally bereaved at the prospect of leaving it to return to his homeland.

The poets are there in force. Nevertheless, it is the personality of Kuzminsky that emerges most clearly and holds the anthology together. That makes this a special, unusual book. Even when others are given the floor, Kuzminsky amplifies, comments, adds his own touches. Really it is his passionate commitment to the mission of making these poets better known (or, in some cases, known at all) that is the driving force behind the monumental project. Kuzminsky’s anthology when it is complete will include 150 or so poets, with about 125 still to go. The second volume is projected to have 1,000 pages and 30 more poets. Such a collection will be the measure of the post-Stalin decades and will keep us all busy for quite some time to come with reading, sifting, comparing, evaluating. It is a picture already surprisingly fascinating in its variety and complexity. One regrets only that an index for each volume has been omitted in favor of a composite one forthcoming in volume five. Separate indexes would have facilitated immediate study.

Note: The anthology selection of poetry by Alik Rivin is based on a rough working copy of a compilation (with notes) by G.A. Levinton of Leningrad. Levinton reports that the copy and therefore the anthology selections contain many inaccuracies and are even more fragmentary than they appear to be. Kuzminsky was evidently unaware of either the degree of faultiness of the text or the identity of its compiler. Levinton is preparing a scholarly edition of Rivin’s poetry based on authorial manuscripts and other reliable sources.

Gerald Janecek
University of Kentucky