Love and Nostalgia - Thinking of watching Tarkovsky's film "Nostalgia"
"This love moves the sun and other stars"
Dante's Divine Comedy
After getting up early yesterday morning, I looked out the window to the west. Since almost all the leaves of the plane trees on the opposite street have fallen, the field of vision has become wider, and the hills to the west can be seen at a glance. I have been in Changping for all these years, and I still have not been able to figure it out. Is that Fengshan or Jundu Mountain? Standing in front of the window, looking at the pine trees on the top of the mountain, I think of the ancient verses "The trees on the horizon are like camellias, and the riverside is like the moon", "If you are transformed into hundreds of billions, scattered on the top of the peaks to look at your hometown", I miss the small village in the south. Counting the days of wandering abroad, I think about the city south of the South, I think about the country overseas, I think about isolation, censorship, imprisonment, aphasia, arrest, arson on Capitol Hill... The epidemic has repeated the streets to notify the need to leave Beijing. Report online information and propose to celebrate the New Year on the spot... Maybe the upcoming Spring Festival reunion will be in vain again. I wrote a poem to comfort me, but my emotions became more and more difficult to deal with, so I remembered the famous film "Nostalgia".
This is my first time watching Tarkovsky's Nostalgia. Soothing rhythm, quietly appreciating, the long lens guides my thoughts, along with the sound, picture, light and shadow to enter a foreign land, although it is a foreign land, but it deeply comforts my homesickness, let I confirm once again - poets do not need nostalgia in the sense of space, and the nostalgia of poets is always in the sense of time.
When he was filming "Nostalgia" in Italy in 1983, he decided not to return to the Soviet Union in his life, at the age of 51; he died of lung cancer in Paris three years later, and was buried in the small town of Saint Genavier outside Paris. A Russian immigrant cemetery, aged 54.
die young! This reminds me of the Nobel Prize winner for literature, the Russian poet Brodsky, who also died young: in New York in 1996, he died of a heart attack in his sleep at the age of 55. He was buried in New York after his death, and a year later his body was moved to the San Michele Cemetery in Venice for burial, according to the poet's last wishes.
After Brinell was deported from the country in 1972, he never went back, nor did he go back after the disintegration of the Soviet Union. He would often go to cities along the Baltic Sea, such as Stockholm, the hometown of the poet Transtrom. It is said that in Buchner's view, the scenery there can completely replace the scenery of his hometown.
The reason why the poet Brodsky did not return to his hometown is unknown; why the film director Tarkovsky decided not to return to his hometown may be known for one or two reasons, but it is basically a conjecture. The film "Nostalgia" goes beyond the traditional concept of "nostalgia" and directly refers to the spiritual home of the whole human being, that is, the lost Garden of Eden. Therefore, nostalgia is not at the regional level, but at the spiritual level. In the ultimate sense, there is no going back, and people can only rely on faith to redeem themselves, get closer and closer to their "hometown", and ascend to heaven after death.
After Adam and Eve who ate the fruit of wisdom were expelled from the Garden of Eden, they could never go back. The son of civilization began to wander forever. The poet is the model of the son of civilization, and the poet is always in a wandering state (at least the poet's heart and spirit have been wandering). Therefore, for a poet's nostalgia, the spatial meaning is always weaker than the time meaning, and the regional meaning is always less than the spiritual meaning. And the poet will die, when he puts the shame of the earth around his neck, and his throat speaks the darkest things in the world, how can he not be persecuted to death? However, poetry never dies, never dies, the love in the poet's heart never dies, the soul never dies, and the spiritual home remains forever.
It is estimated that human beings will not evolve into more perfect creatures (only fucking more perfect viruses!), lost world, forever broken gardens, eternal suffering, curses, plagues, wars, deserts, ruins, doomsday... Desire, Desire, desire, absurdity, despair, conscience is forever condemned, the heart is forever a prison, and poets are forever expelled, exiled... But the sons of civilization, poets, walk hand in hand on the earth, their first mothers with them , give them love, give them strength and comfort.
"Why am I the only one among thousands of people?"
"Because you are a poet!"
Brodsky attaches great importance to his identity as a poet, and he will introduce himself to others seriously: I am a poet. The male protagonist in the film "Nostalgia" was also a Russian poet who also died of a heart attack, which made me think of Brodsky again. More importantly, however, in the film, whether the male protagonist Andrei dreams of falling asleep (the pregnant wife Mary, also the title of the Virgin), or the waking dream when he falls into meditation (the house in the field, wife, children), all directly reminded me of a poem "Love" by Brodsky (maybe the plot of the film has nothing to do with this poem, but it just reminded me of it), the following is the poet Jin Heavy translation:
Love
I woke up twice that night and walked to
in front of the window. Street lights are revealed from sleep
Fragments in a sentence,
Extending to nothingness, if the same string of ellipses,
It didn't bring me comfort and joy.
I dreamed of you, pregnant with a child. And after leaving you,
how many years have passed,
I go through the pain of a sinner, my hands
stroking your belly excitedly,
but found that they were groping their pants
and light switch. Dragging my feet, I came to the window,
Just remembered that I left you there alone,
stayed in the dark, in that dream, and you
but waited patiently when I came back
You didn't blame me, blame it for not happening
leave. And in the light
What is severed, can continue in the dark;
There we got married, we had weddings, we made love,
Play as a two-backed beast; while the children
Taking our nakedness for granted...
Some night in the future you will again
Come to me when you were tired and thin,
I will also see a son, or daughter,
No name yet - I won't this time
To turn on the light in a hurry, it will not
Remove my hand; for I have no power
leave you in that country, that
In the shadows of silence, outside the iron bars of the day,
Let you fall into the abyss of helplessness, it, away from this
Contains my reality - unobtainable.
Written in 1971, this poem is one of many poems written by Brinell to his former lover, the female painter Basmanova. As fate would have it, the poet eventually went into exile in the United States, while the female painter and their son Andrei stayed in the Soviet Union (they did not marry, and the son took his mother's surname). Over time, they gradually cut off contact. Later, when the Soviet Union disintegrated, Brinell did not return to his home country. He met Basmanova. According to the poet, "My love cannot be found." Basmanova's Russian-Italian female student Sozani, who married Sozani in 1991. It was as if his love had been found again—worldly love is a fire that goes out one day, so it doesn't last forever, but love is a fire that burns somewhere else, so it's eternal. (Note: For the poet's love story, you can read the Weibo article "Brodsky's Love: Coming Home?" by Sun Yue, a writer and translator based in Russia.)
The poet dies, the poet's love of man and woman dies, but poetry does not die, poetry survives. Brinell believes that the "poet" comes from God, and there are views that poetry is written by God with the poet's hand, and the poet is just the medium, just as the film is the medium for the director's thought expression.
Bruce's verse: When I love, I love deeply Whether it is the love between men and women, or the love of poetry, it can be said that Brinell is unforgettable. For earthly love, for God's love, you have to love deep enough for the soul to be full, isn't it?
I thought of this while watching the movie, so I wrote it down, maybe it has nothing to do with Tashi's film at all, but the essence of Tashi's film is not to remove the plot and use poetic lens language to describe the heart, so as to make Do people have rich associations?
Tashi dedicated the film "Nostalgia" to his mother. Andre, the poet of the film's hero, has been talking about the painting "The Virgin in Childbirth". It may be meaningful to think about it. In the poet's opinion, the mother's womb Isn't it another Garden of Eden that he can't go back to?
A poet, his love story, and his poetry came to mind from a movie. From the "nostalgia" thought of spiritual home, human redemption, God's love. A person's life is destined to be a life of wandering, hometown, foreign land, physical wandering, spiritual exile... I remember when I graduated from Hefei and came to Beijing, I used the Ta's book "Carving Time" that I have not read yet. Weino's "Our Ancestors", I was complacent at the time, but I feel a little regretful now, because I haven't read this masterpiece of Ta's yet...
2021.01.10
Appendix: Two Poems by Brodsky
i sit by the window
Translation by Jin Chong
I said fate plays a game of no score,
Who wants fish with caviar?
Gothic triumph will pass before your eyes,
Will turn on your buttons - no more charcoal, or grass.
I sit by the window. Outside, a poplar.
When I love, I love deeply. But not often.
I said that a forest is only a part of a tree.
Who wants a girl's whole body when she has her knees?
Tired of the dust nurtured by the modern age,
Then Russia's eyes will fall on the spire of the Estonian tower.
I sit by the window. Dishes are cleaned.
I was happy here. But no longer.
I wrote: The lightbulb looked at the floor with horror,
Love, as an act, lacks a verb; that zero,
What Euclid thought was the zero that the vanishing point turned into, wasn't it?
Mathematics - it is the nothingness of time.
I sit by the window. when i sit
My youth has come again. Sometimes I smile. Or spit.
I said green leaves destroy buds;
All that is fertile falling into idle land is in vain;
On the flat field, the shadowless plain
How in vain nature sowed the seeds of trees.
I sat by the window, my hands locked on my knees.
My heavy shadow is my stout companion.
My song is out of tune, my voice is hoarse,
But at least no chorus can sing it anymore.
It doesn't embarrass anyone that a conversation like this is fruitless
- No one's legs rest on my shoulders.
I sit by the window in the dark. like an express train,
The waves fell behind the wavy curtain.
A loyal subject of the second-rate age,
I proudly admit that my best idea
They are all second-rate, I hope the future will put them
As the spoils of my rebellion against suffocation.
I sit in the dark. hard to judge
Which is worse: dark inside, or dark outside.
love
Translated by Wu Di
I woke up from my dream twice tonight,
Go to the window, the lights outside the window
like pale ellipses, trying
To fill the broken words of my dreams,
But it was also attributed to emptiness, which did not bring comfort.
I dreamed that you were pregnant. although
We have been separated for so many years.
I still feel my guilt.
Gleefully stroke your belly with both hands,
But it was my underwear
and switch. I went to the window,
know to leave you alone
There, in the dark, in the dream,
you wait there patiently
My return did not leave me on purpose
considered a fault. because of the darkness
Revives things destroyed by light.
We were married in the dark, with ceremonies,
We're two-backed monsters, boys
Just proof of our naked innocence.
on any future night
You will reappear, thin and tired
i will see a son or a daughter
Still not named, - then I,
No more reaching for the light switch.
I have no right to take you
Left behind in the kingdom of shadows,
Beyond the fence of the day,
succumbed to speechless
A living reality beyond my reach.
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