Dir bul shchyl

Olga Mexina

The best writing articulates the indescribable and names the unnamable. Precision and clarity are important, but it's something that transcends their boundaries in a text that makes it work. Last week in the workshop we discussed this in class, and, tending to be inarticulate and unintelligible myself, I felt reassured. In fact, it is exactly the unintelligible and inarticulate that sometimes gets our attention right away and makes us laugh or cry or hear a strange noise in our heads. For example, my daughter, who is turning two this Tuesday, gets my attention much quicker when she inarticulately bellows at the top of her lungs, trying to stop my attempts to finish writing this blog post. When she approaches me and tries to voice her opinion that my behavior is unacceptable, I could just ask her to give me a minute or half an hour, but not when she unintelligibly yells into my ear. Similarly in writing, the inarticulate sound sometimes accomplishes more than form or structure. Consider the poem Dir bul shchyl by Alexei Kruchenykh and how the first line with real language is intensified by the previous lines of pure sound play. Dir bul shchyl
three poems written in my own language deferring from others', their words have no definite meaning 1. Dir bul shchyl ubeshshchur skum vy so bu r l ez 2. Frot fron yt I don't argue I'm in love black language the wild tribe had it too 3. Ta sa mae kha ra bau saem siyu oke rainoke mola al
Sometimes the most interesting and polished narrative leaves me indifferent, while at other times, I come across a piece that is far from perfect form or narrative, but has something, and I am compelled to keep reading or go and cry quietly in a corner about how unfair and sad life is. It is that something that I try to articulate when I write.

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