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Valery Pereleshin

The full spread from "Shans," featuring selections from Pereleshin's poetry in the upper left-hand corner of the left-hand page.
VALERY PERELESHIN
Valery Pereleshin is one of the most outstanding modern Russian poets. He was born in Irkutsk. His childhood and youth were spent in Harbin. Later he lived in Beijing and Brazil. Emigration is always a misfortune, but by no means always a failure. Valery Frantsevich survived and was enriched by new creative experiences.
The book of sonnets from which we've taken these poems is dedicated to Ariel. With this name of Shakespeare's air spirit, he refers to his never-seen friend—Zhenya. This love is platonic, but very passionate. No one in poetry has loved the unseen so hopelessly and blissfully. It is, after all, a love "by mail."
One source of inspiration for Valery Salatko-Petrishche, who adopted the pseudonym Pereleshin, is Derzhavin. The very sounds of his poetry are Derzhavinian. But baroque is only one of the author's elements. He is alien to the sloppiness characteristic of Derzhavin or his modern admirer—Brodsky. Ariel represents life, suffering endured, brotherly tenderness, happiness.
STATUE
The task has been completed to the end:
As swift, haughty, steep-shouldered one
You emerged as a Delphic Apollo
From marble at the passionate call of the chisel.
Around you, captivated hearts
Are flooded with enamored blossoms:
I admire your bearing and distant gaze—
And the muscles of a wrestler.
Divine, you are beautiful, but even
And cold—enticing, but bloodless:
A flower dried for eternity.
No, may you too be branded with my affliction!
And I, seizing a heavy hammer,
Strike the statue on its thighs, on its forearms.
--
December 18, 1972
SPIRIT TO SPIRIT
I preserved beauty and purity
Unearthly. I am spirit, and could I
Not have been so on the rearing bed,
In the surge of strength, in the ebb and in sweat?
Mouth fell upon insistent mouth,
Foreheads paled and chests grew rosy:
The body sought ultimate secrets in body,
And the moment, shot down in flight, lingered.
I am pure spirit—despite the cesspools,
And you are stronger: marked with the same sign,
You stand on dry land, high above.
That you are married—a small loss:
For the homeland you will raise a soldier,
And for yourself—a respectable belly.
--
January 10, 1974
BELOVEDNESS
You are robust: no scars, no injuries,
No blisters, no rashes, no scabs:
You are aware of both your enormous height
And the broad-shouldered sweep of strong arms.
Without missteps and without contradictions
You are clear-eyed, sociable and simple:
In poetry, to the right outpost
You are stationed—harbinger of what's to come.
And I am with you: jealously I'll preserve
In rain and snow, and tenderly to the fire
Move your coat and armchair closer.
No, I am distant—alone with my yearning,
How I wish I could feel
At least half of such belovedness!
--
January 13, 1974
REREADING GUMILEV (I)
Having children is laudable, quite so—
Said Death, having tasted fresh meat,
And Griboyedov, yawning, explained
That for this, one needs no wit.
Life itself pushes hunters
To join the ranks of fathers, and later—grandfathers
(Minus the occasional Ganymedes)
And expand maternity homes.
But from youth, from Hecuba's greedy lips
I tore away my unseeking lips,
Fled from pleasures and creative pursuits.
I could have lived both purer and more carefree,
But I'm proud that, old and last of my kind,
I had no children from any woman.
--
August 5, 1974
(II)
And never did I call a man “brother,”
Though I loved no fewer than two hundred:
Seeking in them midday beauty,
I was especially tender with mulattoes.
I did not go to poets and prelates
For pathos, for intellectual heights:
I preferred some informer
Caught, with a guilty look.
With Lossky and Frank I yawned
And ran away to the crowded carnival,
Breathed in the crowd and music and heat,
And after midnight in a cheap tavern
With some casual Antinous
Conversed about death and melancholy.
--
August 19, 1974
DECLARATION OF LOVE
A sweet confession I heard yesterday:
You love me for my God-given verbal gift,
Though in poetry I'm not the most famous
And other masters are more celebrated.
So shall we turn away from modest good?
I love Sergio because on Sundays
I can hop into his three-seater sedan,
I love Antonio—as a miracle-painter.
I love the mulatto Nilo for his barbering,
As soapy soap—coconut soap,
And only with "Itoya" do I pickle cucumbers.
Dennis Weaver I love as an actor,
Bald Anselmo I love as a floor polisher.
And you, I love as a translator.
--
November 6, 1974
FAITHFULNESS IN UNFAITHFULNESS
Not morgue, but mind.
And you're in my mind,
Carved up into component parts,
In which I can barely recognize
My fiction—child of my own passion.
Palladio on fingers like petals
Placed your silver rings,
But how distant his touches are
From your Komsomol handshake!
In Sergio, the living one, I recognize
Your eyes by their mischievous sparkles.
And your curly head
In Tullio—on his black torso.
Loving the familiar in all bodies,
From this turbid mix I'll recreate you!
--
June 26, 1975
This publication of a selection of poems by Valery Pereleshin (1913-1992) represents the broader revisionist trend within Russian culture in the early 1990s. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, people sought to reconnect with Russian cultural traditions that the Soviet regime had obscured, distorted, exiled, or repressed. As a part of these efforts, works of many authors suppressed inside the Soviet Union and authors publishing in the Russian diasporas—works that until then had only circulated inside Russia in samizdat (self-publisehd) or tamizdat (published abroad) editions—began appearing in conventional print-distribution channels inside the country.
In the Russian LGBTQ subculture of the early 1990s, this process involved inscribing artistic or cultural figures—for instance, early twentieth-century poets Mikhail Kuzmin (1872-1936) and Nikolai Kluyev (1884-1937)—into a history and canon from which they had been unjustly excluded because of their sexual identity. Valery Pereleshin, who died the year this piece was published, was certainly the best known, and possibly the only, published Russian-diaspora author of openly homoerotic verse in the Russian language as of 1992.
As a child, he had emigrated with his family to the Russian enclave in Harbin, China after 1917, ultimately landing in Brazil by way of the USA. He wrote poetry in Russian and Portuguese, with homoerotic themes becoming increasingly prominent and explicit in his oeuvre as time went on. His poetry was published by Russian émigré presses in Harbin, Germany, France, the USA, and the Netherlands. The cycle Ariel, published by the Frankfurt publisher Posev in 1976, was his most overtly homoerotic work up to that point, and, for some readers and critics, a literary masterpiece deserving of a place in the Western canon. Russian émigré literary scholar Simon Karlinsky, himself born in Harbin, called it “a full-fledged literary coming-out,” “a major event in contemporary Russian poetry,” and “a breakthrough that is significant for the whole of Western culture.”
The selection of poems published here in Shans and the brief commentary that accompanies them emphasize Pereleshin’s “platonic” love for an unseen male correspondent of many years. Also evident are classical motifs and relationships to the Greco-Roman tradition, to Shakespeare, to the Italian Renaissance, and to pre-Revolutionary Russian literature. This presentation of the poet and his works seems to have as its main agenda their inscription into the Russian and Western literary traditions—in other words, a restoration of these works to their proper place, which the commentators suggest they would already occupy but for the cultural violence of the Soviet experiment. A three-volume set of Pereleshin’s collected works was published in 2018 by the Moscow publisher “Prestizh buk.”