VENEDICT EROFEEV: MOSCOW-PIETUSHKI
Dec 2nd, 2009 by Conor McCabe
Pray for me,angels. Let my path be bright, let there be no stumbling block, let me see the city I have longed to see.”
On 5 December 1990 I was working in a hostel on Talbot Street when I came across a Bookmark special on a Russian writer called Ben.
At least, that was that the subtitles said was his name, and as I watched I became more and more intrigued by this writer and by his novel - what seemed to be his only novel - Moscow-Pietushki.
The writer’s name was Vyenedikt Yerofeev, the film was called From Moscow to Pietushki, and it had been made by Pawel Pawlikowski.
It being December the hostel was almost empty. I think maybe there were two or three guests, and my job was to wait up until midnight and then lock the door. It must have been the only hostel in Dublin with a curfew. Immediately after the programme was finished I rang my friend Seán to ask him had he seen it. He had, and we both set out to find out more about the writer and, indeed, the novel.
Neither of us had taped the show, and I don’t think it was shown again, so all we had to go on was a Russian writer named Ben who drank a lot. An awful lot. A hell of an awful lot. Eventually Seán had the idea to write to Bookmark and just ask them who was the writer. They got back fairly promptly and with the details - i.e. a surname - Seán was able to order up a translation of the book from the TCD library, and he photocopied the first couple of chapters. The edition was Moscow Circles and the translation didn’t seem very good. Again through TCD we were able to find out that there was another translation entitled Moscow to the End of the Line. Eventually, we wrote off to the publishers, Northwestern University Press, for a catalogue. We were not the most efficient of researchers, and it took us two years to actually get around to ordering the book, but when it finally arrived I called in sick and spent two days at home reading it. I was supremely disappointed. But, given the amount of time and effort that went into getting the book, I picked it up and read it again. And again. And again. It is easily one of my favourite books and at this stage I can quote whole paragraphs. It is funny, insightful, and tragic. What a fantastic combination.
Since I began blogging on Dublin Opinion, I’ve always meant to write something about Moscow to the end of the Line, and H.W. Tjalsma’s sublime translation, but any time I tried I just gave up. It’s one of the few things on this planet that actually leaves me speechless, such is my love and admiration for it.
All I can say is read it. You will be disappointed, but only for the first time.
I only wrote about the book tonight because I put Erofeev’s name into YouTube - as I do every so often - and found that someone has put up a clip of the original film myself and Seán watched one night in December, nineteen years ago.
Anyway, Venedickt Erofeev.
I didn’t know that there was pain like that in the world. And I writhed from the torture of it - a clotted red letter spread across my eyes and started to quiver. And since then I have not regained consciousness, and I never will.”
Thanks for this Conor. ‘Moscow to the End of the Line’ is such a tragic, beautiful read, its an amazing piece of work. I look forward to watching this clip. I had no idea it existed.
Cheers Lee. I’d love to get my hands on the entire film, but I don’t think it’s been released. A pity as it’s quite a work in itself.
wikipedia have a slightly different spelling for his name -
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venedikt_Yerofeev
Sorry Conor for leaving this post without a comment for so long - most likely something to do with Aunt Clara or her kisses.
Priceless that film coverage - a pity the whole lot isn’t up there / out there. As you tell it - our lightning speed in tracking down our man makes the Dublin archdiosese seem like Mulder & Scully in comparison.
Have since sent Bookmark an e-mail to see if there was any chance of even a transcript of the programme but they hadn’t archived one, unfortunately. I suppose we can forgive them - for even broadcasting it once - Erofeev would have never come onto our radar, I fear, but for them.
I’ve also recently started seeing a French translation of some student notebooks of his in bookshops : ‘Carnets d’un psychopathe’ put out by a Swiss publishing house ‘Editions Anatolia’ but I’ve no idea if the same text has been translated into English. The couple of extracts up on Anatolia’s site are similar in tone to ‘Moscow To The End of the Line’.
Here are the links for Anatolia, for what it’s worth (in French) :
http://www.anatoliaeditions.eu/
2 extracts from ‘Carnets d’un Psychopath’ :
http://www.anatoliaeditions.eu/catalogueExtraits/extraitsCarnetsPsy.html
Their edition is prefaced and annotated by Alexeï Yablokov and the translation into French is by Odile Melnik-Ardin
Just so you know Seán and Conor, there is also a version translated by Stephen Mulrine called Moscow Stations, available in Faber: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Moscow-Stations-Venedikt-Erofeev/dp/0571192041.
Mulrine also adapted it into a play which got very good reviews at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival a decade and a half ago. It travelled around the world a bit after that:
http://theater.nytimes.com/mem/theater/treview.html?res=990CE3DA103BF935A25753C1A963958260
I don’t think the translation is very good, having only scanned a little of it. Certainly not as good as the Tjalsma version I read.
Donagh - seem to remember the ‘Moscow Stations’ version floating by. Also saw a stage adaptation in Dublin Castle once but which being just a monologue / glorified reading - didn’t really do justice to the text. Don’t know if it was the Mulrine adaptation.
I only found out about it after I’d read the Tjalsma version, but yea, from my brief reading it seemed to be a monologue. I dislike ‘plays’ in general, having given them plenty of chances in the past. But the type of play I dislike the most is a monologue. People seem to think that its a great platform for an accomplished actor to provide a ‘virtuoso’ performance, and with the power of their ‘acting’ alone enrapture people in the story to the point that they forget that there is only one player on the stage.
What I see is one wheeze-bag actor with a huge ego shuffling, strutting and shouting for a hour in a room full of people who really want to be in a pub or at home watching telly.
what about Beckett? does the play format put the Krapp in Krapp’s last tape for you?
cue drumroll on the snare then the high-hat… Conor you should really be doing the drumrolls around here - ye’ve got the gift with the drumschticks
Beckett is the exception that proves the rule.
Hello all!
Moskva-Petushki is at the top of my reading list, but I’m trying to decide which translation I should read in it, and I’m having trouble finding excerpts from some of the out of print versions. If it’s not too much trouble, can anyone with multiple copies post maybe a paragraph from each so I can take a look? I’ve realized — particularly with Russian literature — how much a specific translator can do for a book, and I want to make sure I get this one right. Any help extremely appreciated!