Dedicated to Yuliy Kitaevich - beloved friend, author of many of my poems

The flesh becomes fat.

The dust evaporates.

The years have passed

for a slow dinner.

And it's nice to think

that it was after all

and someone even needed it.

1
HOW TO SIMPLY TAKE FREEDOM FROM THE PEOPLE: IT MUST JUST BE TRUSTED BY THE PEOPLE

* * *

I feel sorry for Marx: his legacy

fell into the Russian font:

here the end justified the means,

and the means crap the goal.

* * *

For the benefit of the hegemonic class,

so that he reigns relentlessly,

available to search at any moment

a separate hegemon.

* * *

The human layer in us is just a little bit

layered unsteadily and alarmingly;

it’s easy to turn us back into cattle,

It's very difficult to get back up.

* * *

Forever we have erected a monument

madness, crashes and losses,

performing an experiment on blood,

brought a negative result.

* * *

I am young, in the remains of snot,

I'm afraid of shaking life like a pear:

It’s dark in their souls, like in their ass,

and in the ass there is an itch to satisfy the soul.

* * *

pressing, crushing and crushing,

fear reproduces itself

raises and feeds itself.

* * *

When stories are a draft

whistles for souls and powers,

one - a slug crawls into a hole,

the other is swollen like a boa constrictor.

* * *

Good without rejecting the means of evil,

according to them he reaps the results;

in paradise where resin is used,

archangels have hooves and horns.

* * *

When the fear is overwhelming

and the darkness is pierced by the barking of pursuits,

blessed is anyone who dares

Don't blow out the fire within yourself.

* * *

Having provided myself with a common phrase,

hostile to life and nature,

in unfreedom there is scum and evil spirits

he becomes more free to become a shepherd.

* * *

Freedom, looking impartially,

then only it becomes necessary,

when there's space inside me

wider than the external chamber.

* * *

Penetrating through the blood to the roots,

piercing the air of the sky,

bondage corrupts us more strongly,

than the most dissolute freedom.

* * *

We got it from our grandfathers today

an indifferent shadow of fatigue -

historical fatigue

possessed generation.

* * *

The spirit of the times, although not militant,

the surf still bloodied him;

committing suicide,

utopias are pulling us along.

* * *

Holding the pen and the eye in union,

It is not in vain that I eat my bread:

Russia – Gordian bathroom

the most pressing current problems.

* * *

I'm afraid of any trumpet howling,

looking habitually and soberly:

good, bitchy in the excitement of struggle,

gets angry coolly and playfully.

* * *

I was lucky: I knew the country

the only one in the world,

in his own captivity

in his living apartment.

* * *

Where they lie to themselves and to each other,

and memory does not serve the mind,

history goes in circles

from blood - through mud - into darkness.

* * *

They bloom fully and stubbornly

fruit progress seeds:

the snobbery of a plebeian, the swagger of a boor,

arrogance of shit.

* * *

In the years of corruption, lies and fear

narrow permitted sphere:

jokes below the groin are forbidden

and thoughts are beyond dick.

* * *

Not close to history, but familiar,

I see our glory very clearly:

we have become an unquenchable beacon,

shining on a course where it is dangerous.

* * *

Leading parties and classes,

the leaders never understood

that an idea thrown to the masses -

This is a girl thrown into the regiment.

* * *

Familiar, silent peoples,

silent roosters crow;

we are created for happiness and freedom,

like fish - for flight and fish soup.

* * *

All social systems -

from hierarchy to brotherhood -

knocking heads on problems

freedom, equality and whoreness.

* * *

The appointed cup to drink on time,

Russia – a lesson and concern for everyone -

crucified like Christ to redeem

the universal mortal sin of reconstruction.

* * *

In any extreme situation,

confused, anxious and hot,

calm confidence of the blind

worse than the confusion of the sighted.

* * *

Whatever the century, we are clearer and more audible

through the strain of the liberal howl:

there is nothing more dangerous and nothing more harmful,

than freedom without any escort at all.

* * *

We are the book of life with the darkness of strife

disconnects in every line,

and those who know do not know disputes -

they fuck us one by one.

* * *

The pulse beats at our temple

mental turmoil, evil coolness;

there is melancholy in the Russian spree,

easily inclined to cruelty.

* * *

Closing my eyes, covering my ears,

considering life as alms,

we take a break when they don't choke,

savored as a blessing.

* * *

Having sleep, food and work,

fate and power will not be contradicted,

and they fuck us mercilessly,

for which they then treat for free.

* * *

Roads to Russian bad weather

flowed through faith and joy;

the more collective the path to happiness,

the worse the overall hangover.

* * *

Years of unrighteous persecution

the invisible juice of infection oozes,

and in the spirit of future generations

silent metastases creep.

* * *

Personally, I am both servile and cruel,

and as long as this is my nature,

democracy is an artificial flower,

non-survivable without protection and care.

* * *

Life is both easy and entertaining,

although disgustingly unheard of,

when everything is clear in the era

and everything is just as hopeless.

* * *

There is one mysterious topic,

relating to our souls:

the crazier the decrepit system,

the more dangerous it is to destroy it at once.

* * *

Comfort and peace grace

the simplest is limited by the limit:

It’s dangerous to call black something black,

and it is dangerous to call white white.

* * *

The fate of the Russian evil spell

are friends with science these days,

smarter and subtler Janissaries

and they wear civilian clothes.

* * *

Russian character is glorified in the world,

it is being explored everywhere

it is so strangely vast,

that he himself yearns for a rein.

* * *

Winter does not immediately turn into summer,

Ice drift on the rivers in the spring is furious,

and bridges collapse, and remember this

useful for Russian optimists.

* * *

Dreams that our ancestors cherished,

they fed us too long,

and it’s a pity that there are only scraps

what remains of them now.

* * *

Life has its own, different shade,

and your sense of life,

when the dungeon is involved

in all its phenomena.

* * *

Neither laughter nor sin can control us

turn away from the brave path,

we build happiness for everyone at once,

and we don't care about everyone.

* * *

Outskirts, provinces of the soul,

where is our abomination, baseness and darkness,

waiting for the moment for years. And the descendants

then they wonder how fascism arose.

* * *

I'm afraid that where the darkness is clubby,

where are the secret springs and entrances,

mass suicide instinct

waters the roots of the tree of freedom.

* * *

You can have any pestilent porridge

start with the Gorlopansk youth,

which World War II

already a little confused with Trojan.

2
AMONG THE UNTHOUGHT VICTORIES OF CIVILIZATION WE ARE ALONE, LIKE CRUCICIAN IN THE SEWER

* * *

Any of us, until he died,

puts itself together piece by piece

of intelligence, sex, humor

and relations with authorities.

* * *

Someday, later, later,

but even in primers they will put a line,

what was done en masse and in droves

Each one solves it alone.

* * *

Since birth I have been painfully divided,

I rush from one extreme to the other,

my dear mother is harmony,

and dissonance is the father.

* * *

Between rumors, fairy tales, myths,

just lies, legends and opinions

we are fighting hotter than the Scythians

for the dissimilarity of misconceptions.

* * *

Swarming with aging children

everyone has tragedy and drama,

and I watch these performances

and lonely as Adam's dick.

* * *

I can't continue this life

and breaking up with her is painfully difficult;

the hardest thing is leaving

we are from where it is impossible to live.

* * *

Being rude to someone in our hearts,

terrible, probably

lose your temper one day

and not go back in.

* * *

Everyone is a blind door to himself,

he is his own criminal and judge,

himself and Mozart and Salieri,

oneself both an acorn and a pig.

* * *

We have a passion for words -

not a whim or a mania at all;

we need words

for the lie of mutual understanding.

* * *

Now enjoying, now grieving,

keeping to any path,

be yourself or you

they will imprison someone else.

* * *

In your image and spirit

The Creator sculpted us, creating origins,

and we keep likeness to Him

and maybe that’s why they’re so lonely.

* * *

Don't jump with age,

Be human;

otherwise you'll end up in shit

together with the century.

* * *

I look without complaining, like in the fall

blew a century on white strands,

and I see with the same pleasure

fortune buttocks are ripe.

* * *

Flowing into earthly time

a coincidence of random coincidences,

any of us are so lonely

that he is happy from any connections.

* * *

Is it not in vain that knowledge is useless

Are we disturbing our dormant spirit?

In those who look into the abyss,

she looks in too.

* * *

There is much happiness in clear faith

with her heavy load light,

Yes, it’s a pity that in a clean atmosphere

unbearable for my heavy lungs.

* * *

Although the excitement is sweet

take two roads at once,

you can't use just one deck of cards

play with both the devil and God.

* * *

It’s not easy to think about lofty things,

soaring with the soul in interstellar worlds,

when it's right around the corner

they sniff, chew and spoil the air.

* * *

We share time and cash

we share vodka, bread, accommodation for the night,

but the more distinct the personality,

the more lonely a person is.

* * *

And disgusting, and vile, and vile,

and the fear that you will become infected with swinishness,

and the cattle go astray

and happily bestial unity.

* * *

None of the closest in captivity

is not included in my experiences,

I keep my emotional calluses

from loving, sympathetic galoshes.

* * *

Partings whistle at the door,

I sit at the table lonely,

guys of champagne blood

become barrels of beer.

* * *

Cultivating the spirit's garden,

the humanitarian elite groans,

wracked with pain for the people

and changes of migraine and colitis.

* * *

It is incongruous with the successes of science,

but it’s whining - and try to drown it out -

my inoperable ulcer

at the bottom of a non-existent soul.

* * *

This thought is a stolen flower

just a rhyme won't hurt her:

man is not alone at all!

Someone is always watching him.

* * *

With a soul divided like a hoof,

I am a stranger to both my fatherland -

Jew, where anti-Semites talk,

and Russian, where they sin with Zionanism.

* * *

Closer circle. Meetings become less and less frequent.

Loss and separation fly by;

some are no longer there, and those are far away,

and whoever is weak goes out into bitches.

* * *

The god of technology is different from the god of science;

the god of art is different from the god of war;

and God of love weakening hands

extends over them from on high.

* * *

You have to pay for so much

as long as existence flows,

that we should thank fate

for cases where you pay for your own.

* * *

In our jungle, fierce and stony,

I am not afraid of the ancient villains,

but I fear the innocent and the righteous,

selfless, holy and innocent.

* * *

The sons leave with their tails in the air,

and the daughters languish, sitting at home;

we plant seeds, grow flowers,

and after that we only see the buttocks.

* * *

When mediocrity swarms all around,

putting your cliché on life,

elitism is hidden in outcastry,

very useful to the soul.

* * *

I'm sorry for this blue sky,

sorry for the earth and the fragments of life;

I'm scared that well-fed pigs

worse than hungry wolves.

* * *

Friends are always a little picky.

And they have a tendency to ridicule.

Friends are always a little annoying.

Like loyalty and certainty.

* * *

The Lord sowed us like a vegetable garden,

but in the thickets of plants He grows,

we are divided into many breeds,

partially completely incompatible.

* * *

I live alone and stooped,

friends have died or are serving,

and where harmony flashed for me,

others will simply discover their ass.

* * *

With my departure the seam will stretch,

cutting right across the country

the country that will remain

and the one that is in me.

* * *

I suddenly lost the feeling of my elbow

with a crowd of swarming people,

and I feel bad like a fly in the ointment

It must be a bad ointment.

* * *

Sitting at a friendly, quiet funeral feast,

I thought, shaking the ashes into a saucer,

how often are losers in life

remain for centuries after death.

* * *

Where are the passions, where are the rage and horrors,

where army took up arms against army,

blessed is he who has enough courage

play the pipe quietly.

* * *

It's funny how fiercely it drives us

in a crowd of hubbub and feast

fear of staying again

in the desert of your own world.

* * *

Discord between fathers and children is a guarantee

those constant changes

in which God is looking for something,

playing with the change of generations.

* * *

Its own features, strokes and highlights

in the soul of everyone and everyone,

but incomprehensibly diverse,

we are equally lonely.

* * *

Changing goals and names,

changing forms, styles, types, -

as long as consciousness glows,

slaves build pyramids.

* * *

It's funny when a man, blooming thickly,

who ate a pound of salt with his native land,

suddenly finds himself sad,

that it seems like he's been fucked for a long time.

* * *

Blessed is he who takes care of the body

I sacrificed my whole life for bread,

but the sky is brighter above those

who occasionally looks at the sky.

* * *

The glow of the soul is varied,

invisible, tangible and piercing;

mental poisoning is contagious,

Mental health is contagious.

* * *

Leave. And live in safe warmth.

And remember. And suffer at night.

The soul is frozen to this frozen earth,

has grown into this rotten soil.

* * *

In everything he sees or hears,

finding an excuse for sadness,

bore - something like a roof,

flowing even without rain.

* * *

My friends! Forever tenderly devoted to you,

I was rewarded by your spiritual generosity;

I hope I won't be betrayed by you,

and this debt will not be collected by you.

* * *

It descends on us from above

from a bird's eye view

that happiness of a dream come true,

then a drop of liquid droppings.

* * *

There lived a man in a certain era,

he insisted with stubbornness,

she killed a man

and he became her pride.

* * *

There is no worse misfortune in life,

than separation from your beloved turmoil:

a person without a familiar environment

becomes Friday very quickly.

* * *

The complexity of our psyche is simple,

no more difficult than before:

hope is more important than possibility

hope will ever come true.

* * *

We are smart, and you, alas,

what's sad if

ass above head

if the ass is in the chair.

* * *

Call me late at night, friends,

do not be afraid to interfere and wake up;

the hour is terribly close when it is impossible

and there will be nowhere for us to call.

3
IN THE STRUGGLE FOR THE PEOPLE'S CAUSE I WAS A FOREIGN BODY

* * *

In the land of slaves forging slavery,

among the whores singing whores,

the sage lives as an anchorite,

in the wind while holding your dick.

* * *

How difficult it is in one sitting,

hesitating even if he’s right,

your destiny - vague text -

read it without distorting it anywhere.

* * *

Sprinkling yourself with poetry

and squandered a century like day,

I defiantly grab with my hands

now an echo, now a smell, now a shadow.

* * *

I look at everything that's happening

and I think: burn it with fire;

but I don’t lose my temper too much,

because the kingdom of God is within.

* * *

Having lived half a century day after day

and having grown wiser since the day of birth,

now I'm easy going

only to fall together.

* * *

Handsome, smart, slightly stooped,

full of worldviews

yesterday I looked into myself

and left in disgust.

* * *

I stubbornly believed in living life,

in simple reason and in the wisdom of jokes,

and all high matters

He gave away skirts to whores.

* * *

The fat ones, the splinters and the lame,

scarecrows, whores and beauties

like parallel lines

intersect in my soul.

* * *

I'm not ashamed to be an ardent skeptic

and in the soul there is not light, but darkness;

doubt is the best antiseptic

from decay of the mind.

* * *

The future does not spoil the taste for me,

I’m too lazy to tremble for the future;

think every day about a rainy day -

means making it black every day.

* * *

My disgust is dear to me,

who has been leading me for a long time:

even to spit at the enemy,

I don't put shit in my mouth.

* * *

I was lucky and lucky

judged and thought enlightened,

and more than one lovely bra

in front of me he was heaving faster.

* * *

My firmament is crystal clear

and full of rainbow pictures

not because the world is beautiful,

but because I'm a cretin.

* * *

An era is upon us,

and in the corner there is a bed,

and when I feel bad with my woman,

I don't care about the era.

* * *

I'm sticking to the loyal line

with the cool temper of the times;

It's better to be a corrupted cynic,

than the saints under investigation.

* * *

In my youth I waited for joy

from the bustle and whistling,

and I'm turning into old age

into a homosexual.

* * *

I live - you can't imagine better,

propping himself up with his shoulder,

one's own lonely companion,

not agreeing with himself on anything.

* * *

I write not disgustingly, but unevenly;

you are lazy to work, and idleness makes you angry.

I live amicably with a Jewish woman,

although at heart he is an anti-Semite.

* * *

That's why I love lying

and I spit at the ceiling,

that I don’t want to interfere with fate

to shape my destiny.

* * *

All the eternal Jews are sitting in me -

prophets, freethinkers, traders,

and, gesticulating to their heart's content, they make noise

in the darkness of an unsettled soul.

* * *

I don't need anything in the world

I don’t want honors or glory;

I enjoy my peace

tender, like in paradise after the raid.

* * *

Until the enema is given,

I am alive and quite alive;

the goat of my optimism

feeds on tryn grass.

* * *

I burn my candle at both ends,

not sparing flesh and fire,

so that when I am forever silent,

my loved ones got bored without me.

* * *

I'm not fit to be a hero -

neither in spirit nor in full face;

and I’m only slightly proud of one thing -

that I carry the cross with a dance.

* * *

I am among those who are extreme and furious,

lost his former interest:

the more aggressive the progressives are,

the uglier the progress.

* * *

Let the bazaar run in vain

who sees the goal. But I personally

took refuge in a life so private,

that he was partially deprived of his face.

* * *

I suddenly realized that I was living correctly,

that he is pure and, thank God, not mediocre,

according to the feeling that in a dream and in reality

I am grateful for everything that happens.

* * *

It's happiness to build a palace on the sand,

do not be afraid of prison and scrip,

indulge in love, surrender to longing,

feast in the epicenter of the plague.

* * *

My mind honestly serves my heart,

always whispering that you're lucky,

that everything could be much worse,

It could have been even worse.

* * *

I live without believing in anything,

I burn, without regret, a stray candle,

I’m silent about the find, I’m silent about the loss,

and most of all I am silent about hope.

* * *

I swear by the compote of my childhood

and I swear by the old man’s heating pads,

that I'm not afraid of anything,

by chance if I touch the truth.

* * *

What to grow from some point

we stop – it’s a big pity:

I'm probably only two centimeters

It's up to prudence.

* * *

In life's conflict, anyone

without narrowing my eyelids with pity,

it's hard to watch yourself

think well of a person.

* * *

I don't believe inveterate lies

about a gleam in the hazy darkness.

I despaired. And therefore

became a desperate optimist.

* * *

At all the crossroads that have been passed,

held me, wishing me happiness,

steel embrace of the motherland

and my neck and wrists.

* * *

On the tree of your genealogy

looking for my character in my ancestors,

I guess sadly that many

swinging in a loop on these branches.

* * *

Tends to touch everything with his eye

My mind is shallow, but deep,

except never into politics

I didn't go deeper than the sole.

* * *

In everything, on an equal basis with everyone else,

like a drop of dew,

in only one way was he different from everyone else -

I couldn't live in shit.

* * *

A royal lot is possible for anyone,

All you need is the courage to get used to the role,

where destroyed is better than insignificant,

humiliated - like a deposed king.

* * *

Because laughter prevails in me

above the mind in the midst of life's battles,

fortune rewards me generously

the back of their medals.

* * *

Closed, bright and carefree

I'm floating in my own smoke;

bound by a common chain by chance,

I am only a neighbor to my age.

* * *

In this strange misery -

How am I living? What do I breathe?

Noise and rudeness reign in space,

noisy boor and boorish noise.

* * *

Someday I'll be famous

they will name a brand of cigarettes after me,

and the anti-Semitic linguist will find out,

that I was a Baltic Eskimo.

* * *

I didn’t come into this life because

to ride into the Senate on horseback,

I'm already completely satisfied with that

that no one envies me.

* * *

I was by no means a dummy,

however, he was not in ballet either;

I am the nobody who was nobody

and was very pleased with it.

* * *

I have a dream to protect

I will be the strength of its infusion:

When will they burn books again?

May they honor my fire.

* * *

I am proud that I became a proletarian;

without fatigue, without rest, without falsehood

I try, I strain and I work,

like a young lieutenant - a general's wife.

* * *

In the midst of the noisy desert of life,

where is the passion, and ambition, and struggle,

I have enough pride

to endure humility.

* * *

What is he like, my ideal reader?

I see it clearly:

he is a skeptic, a loser and a dreamer,

and it’s a pity that he doesn’t read anything.

* * *

The Lord plays with me cleverly,

and I joke about Him a little,

I like my rope,

So I kick my feet.

* * *

All my youth I loved trains,

so that hour is unknown to me,

when is my lucky star

came up and didn’t find me there.

* * *

Prison was by no means a paradise,

but I often thought, while smoking,

that, as you know, God is not a fraer,

which means I’m not sitting in vain.

* * *

The many ways in which time is dirty

the darkness of events, vile and vile,

I find the seed easily

in your own judgments and feelings.

* * *

Fornication of world rearrangements

and the delirium of merging in ecstasy -

have many common properties

with a tornado of flushing in the toilet.

* * *

The era is proud of me for my morality,

so that everyone knows about it everywhere,

will write my name forever

on a cloud, in the wind, in the rain.

* * *

Where will the soul be taken after death?

I don’t bargain with God;

the climate in paradise is much milder,

but a better society is in hell.

Igor Guberman was born in the city of Kharkov on July 7, 1936. He lived there for only eight days from his birth. And, as the poet himself says, “I went to conquer Moscow.” Igor’s mother graduated from the conservatory, his father is an economist. The school immediately accepted me into the second grade, since I already read and wrote. In 1958, Igor graduated from MIIT and was awarded a diploma in electrical engineering.

Labor and literary activities

He worked in his specialty for several years. He gained his first work experience in Bashkiria, where he worked as an electric locomotive driver for a year. At the same time, he worked on popular science books. Somehow it was possible to combine work with literary activity at that time, recalls Igor Guberman. Books:

• “The Third Triumvirate” - about the methods and means of cybernetics in biology (1965).
• "The Wonders and Tragedies of the Black Box" - about the exploration and capabilities of the brain (1968).
• “Liberated Time” - about the leader of the “People's Will” organization (1975).
• “Bekhterev. Pages of Life" - about the Russian psychologist and neurologist V. Bekhterev (1976).

Guberman Igor Mironovich wrote scripts for several documentaries and regularly published essays and articles in periodicals. In the fifties he met A. Ginzburg and other free-thinking people. He is very grateful to many of them, says Igor Guberman; the biography could have been completely different. He increasingly shows himself as a dissident poet, writing satirical poems about the problems of the country of the Soviets.

Arrest and exile

He actively participates in the publication of the underground magazine “Jews in the USSR” and publishes his works there. A dramatic moment in his life was his arrest on trumped-up charges. Huberman says that this was predetermined, as a black car followed him relentlessly for a year.

He refused to testify against the editor and was sentenced to 5 years. He served his entire sentence - from 1979 to 1984. This “peculiar pastime” added to his life experience, recalls Igor Guberman. “The biography will not work out” and life can throw up any surprise. The most important thing is to keep your spirits up and be honest with yourself. In the camp he always kept diaries, in 1980 he wrote “Walks around the barracks”, the book was based on diary entries (published in 1988).

Emigration to Israel

After returning from prison, for a long time he could not obtain a residence permit in the city and get a job. A year later, when Gorbachev came to power, there was some hope that changes had begun in the country. Unfortunately, hopes were not realized. The family emigrated to Israel. Actually, the decision to leave was made a long time ago, but Huberman’s arrest prevented the departure. Therefore, the moving process dragged on for many years.

He moved to Israel in 1987 as an ordinary repatriate. I didn’t notice any “special” interest in myself as a famous person. But it turned out that he has many readers in Israel. Therefore, creative meetings with readers and concerts began very quickly.

I always earned my living in different ways, recalls Igor Guberman, his work history is wide - he was an engineer, a foreman, and a mechanic. When I came to Israel, I was ready for anything and did not expect that I would be able to support my family through literary work.

Huberman's creativity

Guberman Igor Mironovich is actively involved in literary activities. He also writes his famous quatrains. They are distinguished by humor and brevity. Often profanity is used in quatrains. He considers it a natural part of a free and great language.

And this is normal, Igor Guberman believes, the biography of many famous personalities and the best works of Russian literature have confirmed more than once that this is quite natural. Now free vocabulary has returned to the modern literary language.

Legendary "gariki"

He calls his quatrains “gariks”. He once called them "dazibao" (propaganda leaflets during the Chinese revolution). In the seventies, when two of his books were published, before Huberman’s arrest, everyone called them “Jewish dazibao.” But Huberman says this is stupid and wrong. I decided that it was best to call them “Gariks,” since at home they called him not Igor, but Garik.

He doesn't see anything strange or reprehensible in this. He believes that this is very organic, since now many people call quatrains by their name and a great many “mishiks”, “iriks”, “mariks” have appeared. In his "gariks" Guberman often ridicules Russian reality. The quatrains have already exceeded four thousand; the collection “Gariki for Every Day” has gone through several editions. Igor Guberman published other collections of poems:

Igor Guberman is the author of the novel “Strokes to the Portrait” (1994). He performs reading poems, stories and memoirs in the USA, Russia, and other countries. Presenter of a number of programs in Russian on Israeli television. Huberman's works have been translated into English, Italian, German and other languages.

Huberman's wife Tatyana is a philologist by training. She treats everything that her husband writes calmly. She understands perfectly well that the image of the hero in poetry and the author are two different things. In his family, everyone perceives even the most “prickly” poems as normal. Igor Mironovich says that they tried to translate his poems into other languages, but nothing came of it. “Apparently, it is quite difficult to express the realities of our life in another language,” jokes Huberman.

Guberman Igor Mironovich (pseudonyms I. Mironov, Abram Khayyam, etc.) (b. 1936) - Russian writer, poet.

Born on July 7, 1936 in Kharkov. He spent his childhood in Moscow. Graduated from the Moscow Institute of Transport Engineers (MIIT). After graduation, he worked in his specialty. I met A. Ginzburg, the editor-compiler of the “samizdat” magazine “Syntax”.

The happiness of a family rests on the prudence of at least one of the spouses.

Guberman Igor Mironovich

He also meets a group of so-called. “Lianozovites” who experimented with the theme of everyday prose. Guberman becomes the hero of R. Karpel's feuilleton Garbage No. 8 (Moskovsky Komsomolets, September 29, 1960): “...engineer Igor Guberman, known for being one of the inspirers and organizers of the dirty handwritten sheets of Syntax.

This “activist,” puffed up like an empty barrel, arrogant and narcissistic, unable to properly connect two words, still harbors hope for recognition” (see also LIANOZOV SCHOOL).

For some time, Huberman combined his work as an engineer with literary activity. He wrote popular science and documentary books (Miracles and tragedies of the black box - about the work of the brain and modern psychiatry, 1968; Bekhterev. Pages of life, 1976, etc.), as well as scripts for documentary films.

Well-fed pigs are more dangerous than hungry wolves.

Guberman Igor Mironovich

Over time, Guberman’s poetic miniatures, which later became known as “gariki,” began to appear in samizdat. (Garik is his home name). In the 1970s, he was an active contributor and author of the samizdat magazine “Jews in the USSR.”

The people who made this magazine saw their task as disseminating knowledge among Jews about religion, the history and language of their people; The issue of emigration was considered a personal matter for everyone.

In 1978 in Israel, the “gariks” that were circulating from hand to hand were collected and published as a separate book. In 1979, Huberman was sentenced to 5 years in prison. An artistic hypothesis about the reasons for the arrest is in his book Strokes to a Portrait.

The climate in heaven is much milder, but the society in hell is better.

Guberman Igor Mironovich

While imprisoned, he kept a diary, from which the book Walks Around the Barracks (1980, published 1988) was born. “Let only lovers of detective stories, sharp plots and twisted plots immediately put aside these scattered notes,” warns

Only this is another problem. Boredom, melancholy and disgust are the main things I experienced there.” But the content of the book is the story of a man who managed to remain a Man where humiliation, fear and boredom / people are reduced to brutes. A clear consciousness helped: the meaner the age, the more honor / for those who are not at one with it. And the ability to discern humanity even in a thief, robber and murderer.

(Guberman was in a criminal camp). The three heroes of the book: the Writer, the Slacker and the Hustler - the three incarnations of the author - help to maintain a sense of humor and not succumb to either despondency or pride.

It is impossible to improve a person, and we are hopelessly magnificent.

Guberman Igor Mironovich

He returned from Siberia in 1984. It was not possible to register not only in Moscow, but also in small towns more than 100 km away from the capital. However, the poet D. Samoilov registered it in his house in Pärnu.

He worked at the Leningrad Documentary Film Studio. Soon, Huberman was invited to the OVIR and informed that they considered it appropriate for him and his family to go to Israel. The hardest thing for us is to leave from there, / Where it is impossible to live,” he wrote later. Since 1988 he has lived in Jerusalem.

In Israel, Huberman wrote the novel Strokes to a Portrait (first published in Russia in 1994). In 1996, his memoirs “Elderly Notes” were published in Jerusalem, and in 2001, The Book of Wanderings.

Those who understood the meaning and meaning of life long ago closed themselves off and fell silent.

Guberman Igor Mironovich

But it was, of course, the “Gariks” who created his fame. The number of “gariks” has exceeded five thousand; together they form a kind of “hypertext”. The artistic techniques of his poems are typical of postmodernism: an ironic paraphrase of well-known expressions (... I thought, investigator, but I exist), giving phraseological units the exact opposite meaning (... was born in a shirt, which in Russia / always led to a straitjacket), centon (there is women in Russian villages are too much for one person), an abundance of obscene (“obscene”) language.

Not all critics and not all readers are delighted with Huberman. He himself takes it for granted - “... those who praise me are right, and those who blaspheme are right.”

- (b. July 7, 1936, Moscow), Russian writer. In 1958 he graduated from the Moscow Institute of Transport Engineers. The author of poignant quatrains (“gariks”), in which he often neglects the norms of literary language. In 1982 1987 he served a sentence in correctional... ... encyclopedic Dictionary

- (b. 1936), Russian writer. In the 196070s. author of popular science books and scripts for television and cinema. In 197984 in prison and exile. Since 1988 in Israel. In aphoristic satirical and ironic verse miniatures... ... Big Encyclopedic Dictionary

Wikipedia has articles about other people with this last name, see Huberman. David Mironovich Guberman ... Wikipedia

Igor Guberman on the cover of the book “Gariks for Every Day” Igor Mironovich Guberman (b. 1936, Kharkov) Russian writer of Jewish origin, poet, widely known for his aphoristic and satirical quatrains, ... ... Wikipedia

Igor Guberman on the cover of the book “Gariks for Every Day” Igor Mironovich Guberman (b. 1936, Kharkov) Russian writer of Jewish origin, poet, widely known for his aphoristic and satirical quatrains, ... ... Wikipedia

Igor Guberman on the cover of the book “Gariks for Every Day” Igor Mironovich Guberman (b. 1936, Kharkov) Russian writer of Jewish origin, poet, widely known for his aphoristic and satirical quatrains, ... ... Wikipedia

Igor Mironovich (born 1936), Russian writer. In the 1960s and 1970s. author of popular science books and scripts for television and cinema. In 1979, 84 was imprisoned and exiled. Since 1988 in Israel. In aphoristic satirical and ironic verse miniatures... ...Russian history

Guberman surname. Famous speakers: Guberman, David Mironovich (1929 2011) Soviet and Russian geologist, academician, director of the Kola Superdeep Research and Production Center Guberman, Igor Mironovich (b. 1936) Soviet ... Wikipedia

On the cover of the book “Gariks for Every Day” Igor Mironovich Guberman (b. 1936, Kharkov) is a Russian writer of Jewish origin, a poet who became widely famous thanks to his aphoristic and satirical quatrains, “gariks”. Biography... ...Wikipedia

Books

• Empty troubles. Gariki and other works, Guberman Igor Mironovich. “Rather ready to meet eternity than to a sober business life, I am provided only with carelessness, but in abundance and with interest. From threads of sunlight, tormented by the excitement of creativity, I weave cuffs...
• Tenth diary, Guberman Igor Mironovich. “So I lived to be eighty years old. I would never have thought that before,” writes Igor Guberman. His new book."The Tenth Diary" is a collection of funny stories, interesting memories and wise...

Igor Mironovich Guberman (Heb. יְהוּדָה בֵן מֵאִיר גוּברמן). Born on July 7, 1936 in Kharkov. Soviet and Israeli poet, prose writer. Known for quatrains called “gariki”.

Father - Miron Davydovich Guberman.

Mother - Emilia Abramovna Guberman.

The elder brother is David Mironovich Guberman, academician of the Russian Academy of Natural Sciences, worked as director of the Kola Superdeep Research and Production Center, and was one of the authors of the project for drilling ultra-deep wells.

After school, he entered the Moscow Institute of Railway Transport Engineers (MIIT), from which he graduated in 1958, receiving a diploma in electrical engineering. For several years he worked in his specialty, while simultaneously studying literature.

At the end of the 1950s, he met A. Ginzburg, who published one of the first samizdat magazines, “Syntax,” as well as a number of other philosophers, literary figures, and fine artists. He wrote popular science books, but became more and more active as a dissident poet. In his “unofficial” work he used pseudonyms, for example I. Mironov, Abram Khayyam.

Arrest and criminal sentence of Igor Guberman

In 1979, Huberman was arrested on false charges of purchasing stolen icons and sentenced to five years in prison. Not wanting an unnecessary political trial, the authorities tried Huberman as a criminal under the article for profiteering. In addition, one official liked his collection of icons.

Guberman himself said about his criminal case: “At that time, a huge number of people were imprisoned under criminal charges. I remember I was summoned to the KGB and offered to imprison the editor-in-chief of the magazine “Jews in the USSR,” with whom I was then collaborating, or imprison myself. The choice is yours. I was not there. They immediately found criminals who testified that I had bought five obviously stolen icons from them. And since they were not found on me during the search, which is generally understandable, I was also tried for selling stolen goods. In general ", I was facing a maximum of one and a half years. But the investigator admitted to me that I would serve a full five years, because the director of the museum in Dmitrov really liked my collection of icons. And they could only confiscate it if they gave me such a long sentence."

A large collection of paintings, which he had been collecting for 12 years, was confiscated: oil paintings, tempera. In addition - icons, sculptures, a large number of books.

He ended up in a forced labor camp, where he kept diaries. He recalled that in his cell he wrote on scraps of paper that his cellmates kept in their boots and shoes. Then I was able to transfer him to freedom through the deputy head of the Volokolamsk prison regime. “In prison I met different people, but they treated me very well. In general, fools are treated very well in Russia! By the way, I even had a nickname - Professor. So she followed me through the stage. Because I am for everyone I solved crossword puzzles. And for this they threw tobacco over the wall to me in the exercise yard,” he recalled.

In 1984, the poet returned from Siberia. For a long time I could not register in the city and get a job. He said: “They didn’t register me in Moscow. But my wife and children were registered right away; only a year later David Samoilov registered me in Pärnu. I also cleared my criminal record there. The police regularly came and checked where I was.”

In 1988, Huberman emigrated from the USSR to Israel and lives in Jerusalem. He often comes to Russia, speaking at poetry evenings.

In Israel, he began collecting again and amassed a fairly good collection of paintings.

He gained wide fame and popularity "gariki"- aphoristic, satirical quatrains. Initially, he called his poems dazibao (during the Cultural Revolution in China, this was the name for large slogans). But in 1978, his friends published his book in Israel, calling it “Jewish Dazibao.” Then he decided to change the name of his quatrains. About how this name appeared, he said: “Together with me. My name is Igor, but at home they always called Garik. My grandmother pronounced my name wonderful: “Garinka, every word of yours is superfluous!”

All history tells us
what the Lord is constantly doing.
Every century a nit appears
Previously unknown species.

He is a supporter of informal vocabulary: “After all, Russian literature is simply impossible without it!”

“As an unsinkable optimist, it’s hard to upset me. Old age evokes sadness. True, I manage to joke on this topic: “There is weakness in the organs, a spasm behind colic, old age is not joy, insanity is not an orgasm,” said Huberman.

Igor Guberman - Gariki

Personal life of Igor Guberman:

Married. Wife - Tatyana Guberman (nee Libedinskaya), daughter of writers Yuri Libedinsky and Lydia Libedinskaya. As Huberman said, he was happily married all his life. “I don’t know about my wife, but she simply has no choice. On the advice of one of my friends, when filling out the questionnaire in the “marital status” column, I write - hopeless,” he joked.

The marriage produced two children: daughter Tatyana Igorevna Guberman and son Emil Igorevich Guberman.

The daughter is a kindergarten teacher and used to work with cybernetic machines. The son is a processor programmer.

Huberman has three granddaughters and a grandson.

Bibliography of Igor Guberman:

1965 - Third Triumvirate
1969 - Miracles and tragedies of the black box
1974 - Third Triumvirate
1977 - Bekhterev: pages of life
1978 - Igor Garik. "Jewish Da-Tzu-Bao"
1980 - Jewish dazibao
1982 - Boomerang
1988 - Walking around the barracks
1988 - “Gariki (Dazibao)”
1992 - Gariki for every day
1994 - Second Jerusalem Diary
1994 - Jerusalem Gariki
1994 - Touches to the portrait
1998 - Gariki from Jerusalem
2002-2010 - Anthology of Satire and Humor of Russia of the 20th century. T.17
2003 - Okun A., Guberman I. A book about a tasty and healthy life
2004 - Gariki penultimate. Gariki from Atlantis
2006 - Second Jerusalem Diary
2006 - Evening Bells
2009 - Guberman I., Okun A. Guide to the Land of the Elders of Zion
2009 - Book of Wanderings
2009 - Notes from the road
2009 - Elderly notes
2010 - All ages are agile in love
2010 - Gariki over many years
2010 - The art of growing old
2013 - Eighth diary
2013 - Jerusalem Diaries
2014 - The Sad Gift of Frivolity
2015 - Ninth Diary
2016 - Botany of love
2016 - Gariki and prose
2016 - Jewish melodies

Gariki Igor Guberman:

Preferring to be romantic
During difficult decisions,
I always tied it with a bow
The ends of a love relationship.

Come on, Lord, let's decide accordingly,
Defining each other's roles:
Do you love sinners? Wonderful.
And let me love sinners.

I was single - I dreamed of odalisques,
Bacchantes, whores, geishas, ​​pussies;
Now my wife lives with me,
And at night I dream of silence.

Now I understand very clearly
I feel and see very clearly:
it doesn’t matter that the moment is beautiful,
but what is important is that it is unique.

That's why I love slobs,
blessed in spirit, like a seal,
that there are no villains between them
and they are too lazy to do dirty tricks.

and oil-smelling caviar
there is nothing more valuable than laughter,
love, sadness and play.

The army flows like a river behind the army,

how stupid it is to die
for someone's pride and ambition.

I'm glad that I'm sitting with you again,
Now we'll open the bottle,
we declared a battle against drunkenness,
but you need to drink before the fight.

layered unsteadily and alarmingly,
it’s easy to turn us back into cattle,

The idea was not found by me,
but this is a valuable piece of advice:
to live in harmony with your wife,
I argue with her in her absence.

The experience improved no one;
those whom he has improved lie shamelessly;
experience is the knowledge
which can no longer be corrected.

My sadness is as old as the world:

did you hang the mirror in the morning?

There is nothing more sad in the world,
than in the evening, breathing cold darkness,
sadly lighting a cigarette,
think that you don’t want to go home.

I came up with a simple concept:

To live, cherishing peace, -

so that the soul is fresh,
you have to do what is scary.

and I laughed as I ran:

and cherish it zealously.

I'm watching with keen interest
over many years of long-standing battle.
An angel and a demon are fighting inside me,
and I sympathize with both.

I am unable to live collectively:
by the will of painful fate
I'm disgusted with idiots
and among the smart ones it’s lonely.

Sometimes it really prevents me from falling asleep
exciting, no matter how you turn it,
the essence suddenly revealed to me
some unthinkable crap.

I communicate with God without whining
and without causing disturbance;
stupid about the way of life
complain to the author of the device.

what kind of enema tomorrow
fate decided to give us.

Excellent fidelity spouse,
A zealous slave of the marriage bond -
Such a family draws a circle,
That a woman dreams of a triangle.

I love women's words spring
And round dances of women's thoughts,
Because we are book smart,
And women are straight from nature.

I didn't like beauties very much
And they don’t make money out of scarcity:
Beauties even in the middle of the night
I care how they lie.

With stubbornness and stubbornness
Everything in the world is timely;
The more innocent is friendship with a lady,
the faster she gets pregnant.

There are ladies: stone like marble,
And cold as mirrors
But having softened a little, these ladies
Later they stick like resin.

A phase has come in my soul
Simplifying life's drama:
It’s not the lady’s refusal that I’m afraid of,
And I'm afraid of the lady's consent.

Having cooled my soul and body,
I put out my brazier:
I still look at the tender maidens,
And for what - I don’t remember anymore.

Those who seek the truth, hold on
At the paradox on the edge;
These are women: they give us life,
And then they don’t let us live.

The women are getting dressed now
Remembering what I heard from my friends:
The purpose of a woman's outfit is to show off,
That she is no worse without him.

On your own hump and on someone else's
I came up with a simple concept:
it makes no sense to go at a tank with a knife,
but if you really want it, then it’s worth it.

For the joys of love sensations
once paid with acute pain,
we are so afraid of new hobbies,
that we wear a condom on our souls.

To live, cherishing peace, -
fresh, dull, curdled;
so that the soul is fresh,
you have to do what is scary.

Yesterday I ran to fill a tooth,
and I laughed as I ran:
all my life I've been dragging around my future corpse
and cherish it zealously.

In our age of faux fur
and oil-smelling caviar
there is nothing more valuable than laughter,
love, sadness and play.

Our whole tendency towards optimism is
from the inability to imagine
what kind of enema tomorrow
fate decided to give us.

There are personalities - holy simplicity
plays their actions like notes,
naivety is an excellent trait
inherent in creators and idiots.

The army flows like a river behind the army,
to bury their faces in the ground;
how stupid it is to die
for someone's pride and ambition.

People are the weakest at learning
mutually learning relationships,
that it’s too much to meddle in other people’s destinies
Possible only by personal invitation.

The human layer in us is just a little bit
layered unsteadily and alarmingly,
it’s easy to turn us back into cattle,
It's very difficult to get back up.

We have retained all the darkness
past Russian generations,
but they added an odor to them
their spiritual secretions.

Sorry, but I'm not delicate
and forever with cynical impudence
I'm interested in the shape of the spots
on halos of various holiness.

Power steals, servants steal,
a thief loves to reproach a thief;
You can safely believe in Russia,
but it is dangerous to trust her.

I traveled to different countries,
My sadness is as old as the world:
what a scoundrel is everywhere above the tap
did you hang the mirror in the morning?

The man is tied up in a tight knot,
but if the flame bubbles in it,
will always get it from a woman
whatever the woman wants.

My disgust is dear to me,
who has been leading me for a long time:
even to spit at the enemy,
I don't put shit in my mouth.

Living in a mysterious homeland
from night to day for decades,
we drink to the Russian way of life,
where there is an image, but no life.

I loved books, booze and women
And I didn’t ask God for more.
Now my excitement is reduced by age,
Now I have no energy for books.

That's why I love slobs,
blessed in spirit, like a seal,
that there are no villains between them
and they are too lazy to do dirty tricks.

The leaders of Russia are their people
in the name of honor and morality
again they call to go forward,
and where before, they lied again.

All history tells us
what the Lord constantly does:
Every year a nit appears
previously unknown species.

We hate incomprehensibility
in a roulette wheel of joys and sorrows.
We even look for meaning in death,
although he is not in life.

When, swallowing blood and teeth,
I'll have to swing
I ask you, eyes and lips,
don't let me down and smile.