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An Invitation for Me to Think: Selected Poems
“Pussy Riot are Vvedensky's disciples and his heirs.
Katya, Masha, and I are in jail but I don’t consider that we’ve been defeated.... According to the official report, Alexander Vvedensky died on December 20, 1941. We don’t know the cause, whether it was dysentery in the train after his arrest or a bullet from a guard. It was somewhere on the railway line between Voronezh and Kazan. His principle of ‘bad rhythm’ is our own. He ‘It happens that two rhythms will come into your head, a good one and a bad one and I choose the bad one. It will be the right one.’ ... It is believed that the OBERIU dissidents are dead, but they live on. They are persecuted but they do not die.”
— Pussy Riot [Nadezhda Tolokonnikova’s closing statement at their
trial in August 2012]
“I raise[d] my hand against concepts,” wrote Alexander Vvedensky, “I enacted a poetic critique of reason.” This weirdly and wonderfully philosophical poet was born in 1904, grew up in the midst of war and revolution, and reached his artistic maturity as Stalin was twisting the meaning of words in grotesque and lethal ways. Vvedensky—with Daniil Kharms the major figure in the short–lived underground avant-garde group OBERIU (a neologism for “the union for real art”)—responded with a poetry that explodes stable meaning into shimmering streams of provocation and invention. A Vvedensky poem is like a crazy party full of theater, film, magic tricks, jugglery, and feasting. Curious characters appear and disappear, euphoria keeps company with despair, outrageous assertions lead to epic shouting matches, and perhaps it all breaks off with one lonely person singing a song.
A Vvedensky poem doesn’t make a statement. It is an event. Vvedensky’s poetry was unpublishable during his lifetime—he made a living as a writer for children before dying under arrest in 1942—and he remains the least known of the great twentieth-century Russian poets. This is his first book to appear in English. The translations by Eugene Ostashevsky and Matvei Yankelevich, outstanding poets in their own right, are as astonishingly alert and alive as the originals.
Katya, Masha, and I are in jail but I don’t consider that we’ve been defeated.... According to the official report, Alexander Vvedensky died on December 20, 1941. We don’t know the cause, whether it was dysentery in the train after his arrest or a bullet from a guard. It was somewhere on the railway line between Voronezh and Kazan. His principle of ‘bad rhythm’ is our own. He ‘It happens that two rhythms will come into your head, a good one and a bad one and I choose the bad one. It will be the right one.’ ... It is believed that the OBERIU dissidents are dead, but they live on. They are persecuted but they do not die.”
— Pussy Riot [Nadezhda Tolokonnikova’s closing statement at their
trial in August 2012]
“I raise[d] my hand against concepts,” wrote Alexander Vvedensky, “I enacted a poetic critique of reason.” This weirdly and wonderfully philosophical poet was born in 1904, grew up in the midst of war and revolution, and reached his artistic maturity as Stalin was twisting the meaning of words in grotesque and lethal ways. Vvedensky—with Daniil Kharms the major figure in the short–lived underground avant-garde group OBERIU (a neologism for “the union for real art”)—responded with a poetry that explodes stable meaning into shimmering streams of provocation and invention. A Vvedensky poem is like a crazy party full of theater, film, magic tricks, jugglery, and feasting. Curious characters appear and disappear, euphoria keeps company with despair, outrageous assertions lead to epic shouting matches, and perhaps it all breaks off with one lonely person singing a song.
A Vvedensky poem doesn’t make a statement. It is an event. Vvedensky’s poetry was unpublishable during his lifetime—he made a living as a writer for children before dying under arrest in 1942—and he remains the least known of the great twentieth-century Russian poets. This is his first book to appear in English. The translations by Eugene Ostashevsky and Matvei Yankelevich, outstanding poets in their own right, are as astonishingly alert and alive as the originals.
168 pages, Paperback
First published October 1, 2009
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217 people want to read
About the author
Alexander Vvedensky
27 books19 followersAlexander Ivanovich Vvedensky (Russian: Алекса́ндр Ива́нович Введе́нский; 1904–1941) was a Russian poet with formidable influence on "unofficial" and avant-garde art during and after the times of the Soviet Union. Vvedensky is widely considered (among contemporary Russian writers and literary scholars) as one of the most original and important authors to write in Russian in the early Soviet period. He is placed on par with writers such as Andrei Platonov for innovation in the language.Vvedensky considered his own poetry "a critique of reason more powerful than Kant's."
Vvedensky was born in St. Petersburg, Russia, and took an interest in poetry at an early age. An admirer of Velemir Khlebnikov, Vvedensky sought apprenticeships with writers connected to Russian Futurism. In the early 1920s he studied with well-known avant-garde artists from Futurist circles such as Matiushin and Tufanov and Terentiev, at the newly formed GInHuK state arts school (headed up by Kazimir Malevich).
In Tufanov's sound-poetry circle he met Daniil Kharms, with whom he went on to found the OBERIU group (in 1928). Together Kharms and Vvedensky, along with several other young writers, actors, and artists, staged various readings, plays, and cabaret-style events in Leningrad in the late 1920s. Vvedensky, as written in the OBERIU manifesto, was considered the most radical poet of the group.
Vvedensky, like Kharms, worked in children's publishing to get by, and was also quite accomplished in the field. He wrote vignettes for children's magazines, translated books of children's literature, and wrote several children's books of his own.
He was arrested for a short while in 1931–1932 on charges of belonging to a faction of anti-soviet children's writers. During interrogations he was also accused of encoding anti-soviet messages in "zaum" or sound poetry.
After the arrest and a short exile in Kursk, he returned to Leningrad. In the mid-1930s he moved to Kharkov. There, in 1941, at the start of World War II, he was unable to board a crowded evacuation train.
He stayed on in Kharkov hoping to catch up later with his family, but was arrested for "counterrevolutionary agitation" in September 1941. With other prisoners evacuated from Kharkov he was shipped to Kazan but died of pleuritis on the way. His place of burial is unknown.
Most of his poetry was not widely known during his lifetime and not published in Russia until much later. He was known in small circles of writers in Leningrad — Anna Akhmatova praised one of his later poems, "Elegy," very highly.
A two-volume collected works came out first in America, and then in Moscow in 1991. His idiosyncratic, morbidly humorous, and linguistically innovative work has slowly begun to be translated into English and anthologized with other OBERIU writers.
Vvedensky was born in St. Petersburg, Russia, and took an interest in poetry at an early age. An admirer of Velemir Khlebnikov, Vvedensky sought apprenticeships with writers connected to Russian Futurism. In the early 1920s he studied with well-known avant-garde artists from Futurist circles such as Matiushin and Tufanov and Terentiev, at the newly formed GInHuK state arts school (headed up by Kazimir Malevich).
In Tufanov's sound-poetry circle he met Daniil Kharms, with whom he went on to found the OBERIU group (in 1928). Together Kharms and Vvedensky, along with several other young writers, actors, and artists, staged various readings, plays, and cabaret-style events in Leningrad in the late 1920s. Vvedensky, as written in the OBERIU manifesto, was considered the most radical poet of the group.
Vvedensky, like Kharms, worked in children's publishing to get by, and was also quite accomplished in the field. He wrote vignettes for children's magazines, translated books of children's literature, and wrote several children's books of his own.
He was arrested for a short while in 1931–1932 on charges of belonging to a faction of anti-soviet children's writers. During interrogations he was also accused of encoding anti-soviet messages in "zaum" or sound poetry.
After the arrest and a short exile in Kursk, he returned to Leningrad. In the mid-1930s he moved to Kharkov. There, in 1941, at the start of World War II, he was unable to board a crowded evacuation train.
He stayed on in Kharkov hoping to catch up later with his family, but was arrested for "counterrevolutionary agitation" in September 1941. With other prisoners evacuated from Kharkov he was shipped to Kazan but died of pleuritis on the way. His place of burial is unknown.
Most of his poetry was not widely known during his lifetime and not published in Russia until much later. He was known in small circles of writers in Leningrad — Anna Akhmatova praised one of his later poems, "Elegy," very highly.
A two-volume collected works came out first in America, and then in Moscow in 1991. His idiosyncratic, morbidly humorous, and linguistically innovative work has slowly begun to be translated into English and anthologized with other OBERIU writers.
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Displaying 1 - 13 of 13 reviews
April 2, 2013
I become completely enraptured by Vvedensky by the time I finished this book. His poems, and diaries I guess, read like a philosophical exploration of reality. Images get picked up, shaken around, and used again and again without the reader understanding exactly how they are meant to be read this time round. Language is both a weapon against the power of reality—and society I think, though not explicitly political Vvedensky is fighting back for the sake of individual authority over the powers of the state (the Soviets) and hence becomes an absurdit role model to Pussy Riot—and a microscope to explore it and at the same time the inner life of the human: how do we see, what do we see, is it the same as what everyone else sees, does it have an inner life as well? Though this is a slim book it packs a punch and is not a light read.
At the same time there is a definite strand of romanticism running through these poems: black woods, night skies, stars and birds and flowers and trees are all important, almost symbols that repeat through the poems and make us think about what we imagine when reading that somewhat undescriptive word. This is a strange mix, and I may have not started this mini-review out well, because the language is often absurd and seemingly haphazard. Vvedensky and his crew are experimental, avant-garde, followers in the Russian Futurist tradition. So why such romanticism?
It's a strange blend but I think succeeds in making one really read these poems. There is no beautiful, lyrical description that we can gloss over and almost fill in the phrases with our own pastoral images appropriated from Disney or Wordsworth. After finishing one of these poems one walks around thinking about buildings as temporary places in time rather than concrete structures in space. An Einstein in rhyme, who makes as about as much sense. But if things make sense then at some level you already know it, and why are you reading it, and do you really know it anyhow?
At the same time there is a definite strand of romanticism running through these poems: black woods, night skies, stars and birds and flowers and trees are all important, almost symbols that repeat through the poems and make us think about what we imagine when reading that somewhat undescriptive word. This is a strange mix, and I may have not started this mini-review out well, because the language is often absurd and seemingly haphazard. Vvedensky and his crew are experimental, avant-garde, followers in the Russian Futurist tradition. So why such romanticism?
It's a strange blend but I think succeeds in making one really read these poems. There is no beautiful, lyrical description that we can gloss over and almost fill in the phrases with our own pastoral images appropriated from Disney or Wordsworth. After finishing one of these poems one walks around thinking about buildings as temporary places in time rather than concrete structures in space. An Einstein in rhyme, who makes as about as much sense. But if things make sense then at some level you already know it, and why are you reading it, and do you really know it anyhow?
November 13, 2015
For me, poetry is the end result of when thought meets language. A poem can express many things, but for my taste, I have always attached to poems that express something that is not here, or there, but somewhere in-between. Avant-garde poetry to me is the ultimate adventure, or a journey without a map. Like rock n' roll produced in Sun Studios in Memphis in the mid-1950s, I feel like I'm getting the real thing, when I read poetry that was produced in the early part of the 20th century. The "new" was not only modern, but "now" as well. It is like the full first kiss or tasting the avocado for the first time. It can never be better that the initial approach. This is how I feel when I read Alexander Vvedensky's (Алекса́ндр Ива́нович Введе́нский; 1904–1941) poetry for the first time.
It's fascinating how poetry can be so dangerous in a society such as Russia for instance. I can understand if Stalin felt threatened by someone saying "Down with Stalin," but when a poet like Vvedensky writes "snow lies/earth flies/lights flip/to pigments night has come/on a rug of stars it lies/is it night or a demon?" Well, it doesn't sound right! So we might as well as arrest this poet.
Alexander Vvedensky was a member of OBERIU, an early Russian avant-garde group that was similar to DADA and the Futurists. The Stalin world craved an art that is easily understood and therefore much more controllable. Alas, the avant-garde played with literature and the visual art as a motor of sorts, to spurn out desire, humor, and a sense of playfulness that went against the Soviet sense of the aesthetic. Vvedensky basically died due that he was a poet of great imagination and wit. As of now, we know he was shipped to Kazan and died of pleuritic on that train trip. Where he is buried is unknown. Along with his fellow playmate and poet/writer Daniil Kharms, his work was saved by Yakov Druskin, and though many years later, we now have at least a good example of his writing. "An Invitation for Me to Think" is a sample of this wonderful poet's work.
When one reads the poetry, the reader doesn't think of it as a work of political thinking, yet, sometimes the landscape surrounding the poet makes their lives very difficult. It is interesting that both Kharms and Vvedensky wrote numerous works for children. While reading this book, I often thought of its rhymes and the way the words are expressed seemed to be in a sing-song style of poetry written for children. Perhaps the sophistication of the words, and how it is told, is what's dangerous in that world at the time. It is also interesting that Pussy Riot has commented on the works of OBERIU as an example of freedom of doing one's art. They quote Vvedensky as saying "It happens that two rhythms will come into your head, a good one and a bad one and I choose the bad one. It will be the right one." Which to me is art in a nutshell. Stalin didn't get it, but then again, he doesn't seem to be a man of great humor and appreciation of the enlightened poet.
It's fascinating how poetry can be so dangerous in a society such as Russia for instance. I can understand if Stalin felt threatened by someone saying "Down with Stalin," but when a poet like Vvedensky writes "snow lies/earth flies/lights flip/to pigments night has come/on a rug of stars it lies/is it night or a demon?" Well, it doesn't sound right! So we might as well as arrest this poet.
Alexander Vvedensky was a member of OBERIU, an early Russian avant-garde group that was similar to DADA and the Futurists. The Stalin world craved an art that is easily understood and therefore much more controllable. Alas, the avant-garde played with literature and the visual art as a motor of sorts, to spurn out desire, humor, and a sense of playfulness that went against the Soviet sense of the aesthetic. Vvedensky basically died due that he was a poet of great imagination and wit. As of now, we know he was shipped to Kazan and died of pleuritic on that train trip. Where he is buried is unknown. Along with his fellow playmate and poet/writer Daniil Kharms, his work was saved by Yakov Druskin, and though many years later, we now have at least a good example of his writing. "An Invitation for Me to Think" is a sample of this wonderful poet's work.
When one reads the poetry, the reader doesn't think of it as a work of political thinking, yet, sometimes the landscape surrounding the poet makes their lives very difficult. It is interesting that both Kharms and Vvedensky wrote numerous works for children. While reading this book, I often thought of its rhymes and the way the words are expressed seemed to be in a sing-song style of poetry written for children. Perhaps the sophistication of the words, and how it is told, is what's dangerous in that world at the time. It is also interesting that Pussy Riot has commented on the works of OBERIU as an example of freedom of doing one's art. They quote Vvedensky as saying "It happens that two rhythms will come into your head, a good one and a bad one and I choose the bad one. It will be the right one." Which to me is art in a nutshell. Stalin didn't get it, but then again, he doesn't seem to be a man of great humor and appreciation of the enlightened poet.
October 27, 2019
Read on the plane. Vvedensky is one of my favorite writers, and this edition was fantastic. Really great introductory materials too. It must be said that anything like this should be, at its best, a great reason to learn Russian, be cause of course You have to read it in Russian to really appreciate it.
June 13, 2017
i usually can't get into poetry that's this abstract/surreal, but there was some really incredible stuff in here. "the gray notebook" in particular was awesome. some of the longer dialog-poems can get tedious but i'm sure glad i read this. seems like something i'll come back to
October 9, 2024
"It happens that two rhythms will come into your head, a good one and a bad one and I choose the bad one. It will be the right one." -- Vvedensky
I loved spending this time with the bad rhythm of Vvedensky. Comparing this edition to poems of his that I read previously, it's not my favorite translation. But still lovely stuff like this:
"If you erase the numbers from a clock, if you forget the false names, maybe then time would want to show us its quiet torso, to appear to us in its full glory. Let the mouse run over the stone. Count only its every step. Only forget the word every, only forget the word step. Then each step will seem a new movement. Then, since you rightfully will have lost your ability to perceive a series of movements as something whole, which you had wrongly called step (you were confusing movement and time with space, you erred in superimposing them one over the other), movement as you see it will begin to break apart, it will arrive almost at zero. The shimmering will begin. The mouse will start to shimmer. Look around you: the world is shimmering (like a mouse)."
I loved spending this time with the bad rhythm of Vvedensky. Comparing this edition to poems of his that I read previously, it's not my favorite translation. But still lovely stuff like this:
"If you erase the numbers from a clock, if you forget the false names, maybe then time would want to show us its quiet torso, to appear to us in its full glory. Let the mouse run over the stone. Count only its every step. Only forget the word every, only forget the word step. Then each step will seem a new movement. Then, since you rightfully will have lost your ability to perceive a series of movements as something whole, which you had wrongly called step (you were confusing movement and time with space, you erred in superimposing them one over the other), movement as you see it will begin to break apart, it will arrive almost at zero. The shimmering will begin. The mouse will start to shimmer. Look around you: the world is shimmering (like a mouse)."
June 7, 2022
The introduction is almost worth the book in its weight by itself, Ostashevsky is an incredibly gifted writer and reader. He draws our eyes to the fact that Pussy Riot claimed Vvedensky to be their author - Vvedensky represents a certain class of Russian youth today, the ones who recognize their absurd world, and can do nothing more than create Zaum like sounds and screams. In that way, these works, and the works of the likes of Pussy Riot and other Russian performance artists today represent a sort of psycho-linguistics protest against reality.
As the murals of those around Vvedensky are being erased in St. Petersburg, we see that the government is afraid of those from the past like him. I highly recommend this book.
As the murals of those around Vvedensky are being erased in St. Petersburg, we see that the government is afraid of those from the past like him. I highly recommend this book.
April 26, 2023
First I was in love with Daniil Kharms, then it was Nikolai Zabolotsky I was in love with, and now it's Alexander Vvedensky and now I'm sure he is the best.
December 4, 2023
Conceptually dense and self-referential. The kinda wacky style predicts a few decades of avant-garde movement. Being densely allusive to things I have not read, sometimes my ability to engage was maxed out at appreciating original turns of phrase. Super inventive but thematically repetitious, even in a small volume.
Read
August 8, 2025abbandonato
March 16, 2014
awesome.
February 11, 2016
Nearer a 4.5. This guy is nutty and I like nuts.
Displaying 1 - 13 of 13 reviews