Dmitri Alexandrovich Prigov (1940–2007) died of a heart attack on the Moscow metro at age 66. An artist of incisive comic genius with a taste for the bizarre, he would no doubt have found the circumstances of his death somewhat amusing. As Soviet Texts, an excellent new collection of his work translated and edited by poet Simon Schuchat (with Ainsley Morse) and published by Ugly Duckling Presse, makes clear, Prigov’s central literary mission was the dismantling of the language of officialdom. He is a satirist, a parodist, whose writing is a mocking commentary on the political misuses and other abuses of language. [photo left: D.A. Prigov]
The lead-off piece in Soviet Texts is entitled “Under Me,” and it sets the tone for the entire collection. A long list-poem offering “a procession of details, elements, events, which took place ‘under me,’” it showcases Prigov’s absurd, expansive, comprehensive knowledge of history, art, and culture (not to mention sports and porn):
And Stallone, Schwarzenegger, Kim Basinger, Michael Jackson appeared under me
Tarantino, Platini, van Basten, Wim Wenders also appeared under me.
Jeff Koons appeared under me, too
And Ciccolina appeared under me
And Ravi Shankar appeared under me
Mike Tyson, Schumacher, Agassi, Magic Johnson appeared under me, too
In “Description of Objects,” Prigov takes aim at the deadly form and diction of Soviet propaganda in a series of pieces each beginning with “Comrades!” and proceeding to offer ridiculous definitions of everything from eggs to apes. Authoritative nonsense and faux logic lead to the final conclusion of every description: “For the reasons indicated above, its actual existence is considered unlikely.” In the brilliant mock-heroic “Moscow and the Muscovites,” one of my favorites, Prigov takes on inflated, nationalistic jargon, exposing its ludicrousness along the way: “Moscow is everywhere—its peoples are all over/ And where Moscow’s not—there’s only emptiness.” “Twenty Stories about Stalin” are scripture-like parables about Uncle Joe that are ultimately anti-hagiographic.
Also a prolific visual artist, Prigov clearly deserves the wider appreciation that this book will certainly bring him. As Simon Schuchat [photo right] notes in the frontmatter: “While Prigov’s writing is very definitely of the Soviet and post-Soviet world, it is also fully equal to, and sometimes consonant with, contemporaneous avant-garde writing elsewhere in the world.”
Soviet Texts thrums with Prigov’s subversive sense of humor, almost making one hungry for something irony-free. Though I don’t think you find that in his writing, I thought these lines from “Terrorism with a Human Face” came closest, and could even serve as his epitaph:
When the years have passed and the currently wild
People have forgotten many things
Fear of me will tear through all of Great Russia
For what I wrote! But it was the truth, after all!