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The Phantom in Love – The Notebooks of Don Rigoberto

Some time ago I posted an audio file with my reading of Flying-Ears Love from The Notebooks of Don Rigoberto. Since then the site where the audio was originally hosted has shut down, and I decided to accompany the audio with the images of Egon Schiele‘s work. I have recorded all four letters that Dona Lucretia supposedly wrote to her husband. The Phantom in Love is the last letter, and perhaps, the most playful.

 

The Portrait of the Russian Blogosphere

I was pleasantly surprised to discover the project by the Moscow photographer Kirill Kuzmin – Bloggers’ Portraits in Black and White. The project that has started a few months ago aims at creating a classic photogallery of Russian bloggers. Those who have already taken part range from a cello player through an icon painter and personal shopper to a ballet reviewer.

(Incidentally, I don’t think there are many cello players, icon painters and ballet maniacs in the West who have discovered blogging… still).

According to our agreement, I will be posting short interviews with some of the participants, which will be not a small task considering that I have to edit and translate, too. The first post, however, is dedicated to Kirill himself, and below is our short chat in Russian.

In brief, here’s what we talked about.

http://static.video.yandex.ru/lite-audio/marylou/f6fj9odfb7.1007/

Although he was working as a designer and illustrator for a magazine for a long time, Kirill has only started taking photography seriously in 2001. He found inspiration in the work of the father Nikolai, a friar at the Optina Monastery. Later on he also took inspiration from the work of Laslo Gabany (an incredibly successful wedding photographer as well as a lovely person), Mikhail Kalamkarov (one of the masters of contemporary pictorial photography), and Alexander Slyusarev (a legendary Russian photographer). His favourite genre is portraiture. I asked him if he liked introducing certain metaphorical objects: for instance, I love snapping streetlights, a friend of mine is mad about angels, another friend is equally mesmerised by doors of all sizes and colours. As far as Kirill is concerned, there is nothing more fleeting and interesting for a photographer than a human nature. I dare say the galleries that have already been completed prove the point.

ottenki_serogo.livejournal.com

Russian blogosphere develops primarily via LiveJournal and LiveInternet as platforms, and this partially explains why the culture of commenting is possibly slightly more widespread than in the West. This is especially true of the author’s responses; whether you are a mere personal blogger or a celebrity publisher, you respond to comments. Certain LJs regularly develop discussions and even disputes through comments. The range of topics is, frankly, overwhelming, as well as the ranks of personalities. Blogging has been incredibly popular among politicians, journalists, (wo)men-of-arts even before Ashton Kutcher assembled his stupendous Twitter following. Having said so, the topic of privacy should make a curious subject for discussion, while HRs are still to wake up to the Euro-American practice of checking out an employee’s social networking life before offering them a job. There is a cliche in my homeland that “Russia is ahead of the whole planet“, and it seems that this is true about blogging, as well – even though the readership may be primarily Russian, too.

In this post I used photos of myself, as well as four of the participants. Sergei is a popular Russian citizen journalist who occasionally reports from punk and Goth weddings in Moscow. In all seven years in Manchester I haven’t seen so many punk vows being taken so regularly. Boris is a cello player at the Bolshoi Theatre and the creator of Russia’s leading forum about classical music. Evgeniy and Mikhail each write about their personal interests and offer freebies and tickets to their readers; both represent great examples of establishing relationships with readers. And Julia… no introduction needed.

The project’s gallery – Bloggers Portraits in Black and White.

Kirill Kuzmin (фотограф Кирилл Кузьмин), an official site

Kirill’s blog in English

Uccellini’s La Bergamasca

La Bergamasca, as Britannica tells us, is a lusty 16th century Italian dance; given that it is mentioned in Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream as bergomask, this can surely be seen as the example of the notorious Italianisation of the English culture in the second half of the 16th c.

Marco Uccellini composed his Bergamasca in 1642, and it has instantly gained popularity that sees the piece being performed to this day. The video below is a classical version that remained faithful to what was likely the original tempo. I dare say, however, that this Monday I heard an ever better version by the Moscow musical group Pfeyffer.

Who’s on Top? A New Look at the Body Politic

I wrote the essay below in the early 2006 when I worked as a researcher for one British company. While I’m thinking of the different ways to “add value” to the text, I wanted to share what I’ve written all those years ago. Commissions are welcome; criticism is even more so, as I’m sure I’ve missed some aspects of contemplating the ever-lasting connection between politics and sex. However, even though I was thinking of sharing the text for a long time, I was practically compelled to do this after I found out that somebody was searching for ‘burlesconi‘. Given that in the text below I also had to consider the impact of burlesque performers on the modern attitudes, I thought it was a calling… you know what I mean.

A small note: I’ve just realised the text is heavily marked by Italian connections. In the BBC series mentioned below Lady Thatcher was played by Greta Scacchi, an Italian-Australian actress born in Milan. Oh Italia, amore! 

The Body Politique. 

Image courtesy: The Mirror

On 1 December, 2002, the BBC1 screened a drama Jeffrey Archer: The Truth. It was a fictional rendering of the ‘real’ story behind Archer’s perjury case. According to the plot, Archer first claimed that he spent a night with Baroness Thatcher (still the Prime Minister when Archer’s case broke out), but then changed it to a far-fetched tale of a love affair with Princess Diana, all to provide himself with an alibi for the time he spent with a prostitute. The Western Mail, published in Cardiff, gave out a few details to its readers shortly before the premiere. It said that Thatcher would seduce Archer by performing a striptease on the desk in her cabinet, and that she would also have her hip adorned with a heart tattoo with the letters JA. As the film’s director, Guy Jenkin explained, “…the whole piece is a joke about Jeffrey Archer’s tendency for inaccurate precis”.

So, this would-be obnoxious romp turned out to be a political satire. The BBC used the archaic expression ‘political body’ literally, and admittedly, Archer’s body did not behave ‘politically correctly’ when he was committing adultery. It must yet be noted that in the film Archer did not deny the fact of cheating; he denied the fact of cheating with a prostitute. Bearing in mind that the PM was wearing a tattoo and performed a striptease, one certainly have to ask, exactly what the difference was between her and the prostitute on that occasion. Such confusion shows that today a human body and politics become increasingly intertwined as both can be engaged in “dirty” activity. To treat this as a novelty would be a mistake. One only has to look back at the burlesque tradition in the United States or at the cabaret tradition in Europe, to see the roots of political humiliation through the use of overtly sexual imagery. Overall, however, today notices the tendency to reject the outdated (?) cultural values and identities and to substitute these with the fleeting virtual identities and values, to the extent when politics begins to be perceived as an irrational activity. Let us consider various examples how watching or displaying bodies can in fact be a manifestation of a political stance.

Horrible Prettiness: Social Hierarchy, Burlesque and the Body Politics.

The trait of being ethically rigid is attributed to the English society during so-called Victorian times, but in fact it was never a typically English or a typically Victorian trait. What is interesting, however, is that in the 19th c. across the Continent and across America a sterile mainstream morality co-existed with what Richard Grant White called “the defiance of a system”. The burlesque culture in America represented such defiance. A burlesque performer was a construction of what was called the “low other”: “something that is reviled by and excluded from the dominant social order as debased, dirty, and unworthy, but that is simultaneously the object of desire and/or fascination”.

It can be argued that main political issues of the turn of the 19th and 20th c. were not those related to geopolitics, but those gender-related. Woman was revered and despised at once, and it was arguably down to the artistic movements of the time to support this duality in attitudes. Katie Chopin, an American writer, in the novel The Awakening depicted a sexual self-discovery of a female protagonist, which put her in a strong opposition to the social norms. One of the iconic representatives of the art nouveau, Aubrey Beardsley, illustrated Oscar Wilde’s Salome, showing the reader a horribly beautiful woman who through her outstanding performance murdered the prophet. It is noticeable that these women did not survive the end of the books that told their stories. But it is also evident that women were gradually being invested with power either to define their lives, or to define the lives of the others. The image and story of Salome can be regarded as the best historical example and perhaps an inspiration to the entire culture of female performance that ensued. At any event, the turn of the centuries saw the beginning of power-struggle between men and women. And while it is correct to say that in the English political context the decisive victory came with the right to vote for women, culturally, women found themselves ‘on top’ of men in many continental cabarets and American clubs that offered ‘exotic dancing’.

It is significant that the burlesque culture succeeded in establishing female power through stripping women of their femininity. But although, as Allen tells us, such well-known traits of burlesque as strippers, runways and candybutchers did not appear until 1920s, burlesque and cabaret accentuated the way women could rule men – through offering them satisfaction to their sexual needs. Dance was the ultimate expression on this occasion, as watching it gave both aesthetic and sexual pleasure to the male viewer.

Burlesque is important all the more because it was the arena of acting out the persistent cultural contradiction: women were often mistreated, but without them men would be left unfulfilled. The question “What it means to be a woman?” amply defined the popular objectification of woman as a sexual object that contradicted a common-place hierarchy.

One cannot fail noticing that the burlesque culture at the beginning of its existence did not imbue the same strength of sexual energy, as it came to do at the later stage. What stands out is that these early performers were professional entertainers. However, it is perhaps the later burlesque that shows how feminism would eventually come into being. Whereas before the clubs and cabarets a woman was suppressed as a man’s household ‘slave’, the erotic performance enslaved her sexually. On the other hand, erotic performance in the form of striptease also enslaved men who began to be increasingly regarded as sex-driven creatures, as portrayed with disgust by Valerie Solanas.

Nevertheless, at the beginning the exotic performance was the defiance of an emotionally repressed and hypocrite system, and as such it was effective in attaining a goal that was largely political. At the very least, burlesque performers succeeded in gradually making the society gender-oriented, rather than sex-oriented. It contributed to the fact that today none of the spheres of life is possible without equality in gender representation, which also includes politics.

A Porn Star in Parliament: A Descent in Values or a Political Advance?

In 1987 a Hungarian-born Ilona Staller, aka Cicciolina, was elected to the Italian Parliament, as a Radical Party candidate. While one may have had a vague idea of Ilona, they would definitely know who Cicciolina was, – one of the leading Italian porn actresses of the 1970s and 1980s. Cicciolina has been an amazingly active politician: “she campaigns for a safe future without nuclear energy and with absolute sexual freedom including the right to sex in prisons. She is against all forms of violence including the death penalty and the use of animals for fur or scientific experimentation. She is for the decriminalization of drugs, against censorship of any kind, in favour of sex education in schools, and for objective information about AIDS. She has proposed a tax on automobiles to reduce the damages of smog and fund the defence of nature”. Her recent intention was to run for a post of mayor of Milan in the 2006 elections. When she announced her plans in 2004, she was going to rekindle the city’s economy by opening a casino in a medieval palace in the city centre – despite the fact that the palace is a regular cultural venue.

While an MP, Cicciolina made history by baring her left breast or performing a striptease during press-conferences. A conclusion about her as one of the highly controversial ‘political bodies’ would be an obvious one, but Cicciolina was virtually eager to use her body in the strictly political means: to stop Saddam Hussein, for example, during the Gulf War. It is certainly significant that she was reluctant to use her real name and referred to a better-known stage-name, albeit notorious. And in spite of her ongoing political engagements and a long-ended film career, Cicciolina maintains the website, with zones of explicit content, available to members only.

The question that rises from this sketch is – how should one regard the fact that a hardcore porn actress not only entered the Parliament, but was re-elected despite her explicitly indecent behaviour? Should this point out to the descent in moral values, or is this in fact the proof of political tolerance? The answer will be ambivalent. One can remember Mata Hari, an erotic dancer, who was later convicted as a spy, in which case Cicciolina’s example can be examined from the same perspective. On the other hand, one can remember Madonna’s videoclip on her song American Dream, which was an open critique of the Bush government and the protest against the war in Iraq. As Mrs Ritchie constantly reminds us these days, one of her ambitions was to prove that a woman can be beautiful, sexy and clever all at once. Such view does not exclude a possible involvement in political activity, and Cicciolina is therefore the proof of the society’s recognition of a political potential of a woman.

If we get back to our discussion of how burlesque contributed to the social and political emancipation of a woman, we will notice that it was largely nonsensical. The viewer was never told what he has to make from watching the performer. But what he was expected to do is to throw away any conventionality, because this was the purpose of burlesque: to break social and cultural convention. This is no wonder, for example, that in today’s irreligious or religiously apathetic society a burlesque performer can appear in the nun’s dress only to reveal a heavily tattooed torso. Another example is a performer who swallowed a neon sword. Sword-swallowing is a popular form of entertainment, but it was normally a male prerogative. On this occasion, however, both ‘masculinity’ and seriousness of such performance are mocked, because the sword is not made of steel.

Therefore, one may conclude that when Cicciolina bared her breasts naked, she did not mean to inflict anger – she simply bared her breasts, without any compelling reason or perhaps because she was proud of her previous job, or of her own body. As she said on one occasion, her breasts did the world less harm than Bin Laden’s terrorism. What is indubitable is that through this act she was defying a ‘regular’ image of female politicians, and that she was quite explicitly demonstrating the fact that a half-naked woman can also be a successful and active politician.

Conclusion

Observing these examples, makes one think exactly how we perceive politics and those engaged in it. First of all, it seems that in a democracy where the rights to freedom of speech and freedom of expression are vigilantly monitored by watchdogs and the public alike, it is difficult to reserve a ‘political space’ for politics and politicians, i.e. such space in the social or cultural discourse where politics can be unapproachable. The problem, obviously, is not whether Mrs Thatcher ever had a tattoo or performed a striptease; it is whether the public can or should see a politician’s body bared naked, even in a fictional story. It is also significant that while before it was largely men who were committing adulteries or were engaged in illicit behaviour, women now take an equal share in such activities.

This means not only that everyone can now discuss politics from whatever point of view, but also that everyone can take part in it. Eventually, political ‘wisdom’ that used to be mandatory for any kind of politician in the past is gradually being substituted by ‘common sense’, which opens the doors into politics for representatives of popular culture. What tends to happen, however, is that the public does not want to let go of the traits it cherished in these representatives, and so it wishes the showmen-turned-politicians to preserve these traits, despite the fact that they contradict the ‘serious’ nature of politics. But then, is it not the favourite popular challenge to the ‘old’ culture – to strip it off conventions? If so, then it means that probably politics is no longer serious, – or perhaps that sex no longer matters.

Exegi Monument (Ad Melpomenem)


Exegi Monument, originally uploaded by loscuadernosdejulia.

My parents and I went recently to Kuskovo, a Moscow residence of the famous noble family of the Sheremetievs. The father, Pyotr, and his son, Boris, had played sometimes pivotal roles in the Russian history in the 18th century. Kuskovo was their summer residence; located in the east of Moscow, it was used exclusively for entertainment. The houses had never had any electricity or central heating, and even though the palace and small houses are open to the public throughout the year, as soon as the autumn comes and until spring the palatial complex is only open until dusk.

We wanted to take a photo of me, and this empty pedestal was too good not to be used. And it became an obvious interpretation of the famous poem Ad Melpomenem by the Roman poet, Horace. As a matter of fact, it was one of the poems on the same subject we as first-year History students had to learn for our exam in Latin in 1998; another was an extract from Ovid’s Metamorphoses.

Under the cut is the Latin text and a Russian poetic translation. The video, however, was produced by a group of American students, and offers a rather good example of a marriage between a dead language and a very popular music style. This made me wonder what could happen if we adapted, say, a tragedy by Sophocles in the original ancient Greek to a punk or Goth tune. Any drama/music students who want to give it a go?

Exegi monument(um) aere perennius
Regalique situ pyramid(um) altius
Quod non imber edax, non Aquil(o) impotens
Possit diruer(e) aut innumerabilis
Annorum series et fuga temporum.
Non omnis moriar, multaque pars mei
Vitabit Libitin(am): usqu(e) ego posreta
Creascam laude recens, dum Capitolium
Scandet cum tacita virgane pontifex.
Dicar, qua violens obstrepit Aufidus
Et qua pauper aquae Daunus agrestium
Regnavit populor(um), ex humili potens
Princeps Aeoleum carmen ad Italos
Deduxisse modos. Sume superbiam
Quasitam meritis et mihi Delphica
Lauro cinge volens, Melpomene, comam.

Воздвиг я памятник вечнее меди прочной
И зданий царственных превыше пирамид:
Его ни едкий дождь, ни Аквилон полночный,
Ни ряд бесчисленных годов не истребит.
Нет, я весь не умру, и жизни лучшей долей
Избегну похорон, и славный мой венец
Все будет зеленеть, доколе в Капитолий
С безмолвной девою верховный входит жрец.
И скажут, что рожден, где Ауфид говорливый
Стремительно бежит, где средь безводных стран
С престола Давн судил народ трудолюбивый,
Что из ничтожества был славой я избран.
За то, что первый я на голос эолийский
Свел песнь Италии. О, Мельпомена, свей
Заслуге гордой в честь сама венец дельфиский
И лавром увенчай руно моих кудрей.

А.А.Фет

(more Russian translations)

What Hiawatha Probably Did (And So Did Lewis Carroll)

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1802-1882), a great American poet and the author of The Song of Hiawatha, had also been an object of parodies. Admittedly, it would be improper for anyone interested in poetry not to imitate Hiawatha‘s verse and rhythm; but parodies are a different kind of exercise. One of the most famous was composed by Rev. George Alfred Strong. He rewrote all of The Song‘s 94 stanzas. The passage below is sometimes attributed to him, sometimes to an anonymous author, but gives a good feel of the main traits of Longfellow’s poem that made it a target for parodists (John Wesley Morris, an American geographer and writer, explained it well in his own parody (below)).

What Hiawatha Probably Did (G. A. Strong after H. W. Longfellow)

improved version

He slew the noble Mudjekeewis,
With his skin he made them mittens;
Made them with the fur-side inside,
Made them with the skin-side outside;
He, to keep the warm side inside,
Put the cold side, skin-side, outside;
He, to keep the cold side outside,
Put the warm side, fur-side, inside: –
That’s why he put the cold side outside,
Why he put the warm side inside,
Why he turned them inside outside.

(Is it only me who thinks this improved version makes a perfect tongue twister?? – JD)

What I Think of Hiawatha (John Wesley Morris)

Do you ask me what I think of
This new song of Hiawatha,
With its legends and traditions,
And its frequent repetitions
Of hard names which make the jaw ache,
And of words most unpoetic?
I should answer, I should tell you
I esteem it wild and wayward,
Slipshod metre, scanty sense,
Honour paid to Mudjekeewis,
But no honour to the muse.
However, The Song‘s fame spread far beyond the United States, and in England Lewis Carroll was inspired to compose his own homage to the opportunities for parodies Longfellow’s poem presented. What is important to remember is that Carroll himself was an avid photographer, which is noted throughout the poem. He was well familiar not only with the technique of taking a photo, but was very observant of the sitters’ reactions: how they wanted to look more beautiful and noble, and how these efforts usually fell through. Amazingly, it seems his observations stand true to this day.

Reading Carroll’s poem made me remember one afternoon at school. I had a classmate who I thought was very beautiful. She carried herself straight (a bit unlike me in those days), well aware of her “assets”: wavy hair, blue eyes, a straight nose… As you know, though, it is highly immodest to carry your beauty without a tiny bit of self-deprecation. So, that afternoon between the classes she went to the mirror, to comb her hair. Those of us who didn’t leave the room all sat and watched her; when she turned to us, she was beautiful in the proper sense of the word: her hair was well done, her eyes were shining, a complete picture of teenage prettiness. She noticed our gazes; and, making her way to her seat, announced loudly:

I can’t bear looking at myself, I’m ugly as a cow!

One can only ever wonder
What she’d say about her picture,
Even most finest picture
Ever made by Hiawatha 

(my impromtu thus confirming the ease with which one can revisit the famous poem of Longfellow)

Hiawatha’s Photographing (Lewis Carroll)

[In an age of imitation, I can claim no special merit for this
slight attempt at doing what is known to be so easy. Any fairly
practised writer, with the slightest ear for rhythm, could compose,
for hours together, in the easy running metre of ‘The Song of
Hiawatha.’ Having, then, distinctly stated that I challenge no
attention in the following little poem to its merely verbal jingle,
I must beg the candid reader to confine his criticism to its
treatment of the subject.
]

From his shoulder Hiawatha
Took the camera of rosewood,
Made of sliding, folding rosewood;
Neatly put it all together.
In its case it lay compactly,
Folded into nearly nothing;

But he opened out the hinges,
Pushed and pulled the joints and hinges,
Till it looked all squares and oblongs,
Like a complicated figure
In the Second Book of Euclid.

This he perched upon a tripod –
Crouched beneath its dusky cover –
Stretched his hand, enforcing silence –
Said, “Be motionless, I beg you!”
Mystic, awful was the process.

All the family in order
Sat before him for their pictures:
Each in turn, as he was taken,
Volunteered his own suggestions,
His ingenious suggestions.

First the Governor, the Father:
He suggested velvet curtains
Looped about a massy pillar;
And the corner of a table,
Of a rosewood dining-table.
He would hold a scroll of something,
Hold it firmly in his left-hand;
He would keep his right-hand buried
(Like Napoleon) in his waistcoat;
He would contemplate the distance
With a look of pensive meaning,
As of ducks that die ill tempests.

Grand, heroic was the notion:
Yet the picture failed entirely:
Failed, because he moved a little,
Moved, because he couldn’t help it.

Next, his better half took courage;
SHE would have her picture taken.
She came dressed beyond description,
Dressed in jewels and in satin
Far too gorgeous for an empress.
Gracefully she sat down sideways,
With a simper scarcely human,
Holding in her hand a bouquet
Rather larger than a cabbage.
All the while that she was sitting,
Still the lady chattered, chattered,
Like a monkey in the forest.
“Am I sitting still?” she asked him.
“Is my face enough in profile?
Shall I hold the bouquet higher?
Will it came into the picture?”
And the picture failed completely.

Next the Son, the Stunning-Cantab:
He suggested curves of beauty,
Curves pervading all his figure,
Which the eye might follow onward,
Till they centered in the breast-pin,
Centered in the golden breast-pin.
He had learnt it all from Ruskin
(Author of ‘The Stones of Venice,’
‘Seven Lamps of Architecture,’
‘Modern Painters,’ and some others);
And perhaps he had not fully
Understood his author’s meaning;
But, whatever was the reason,
All was fruitless, as the picture
Ended in an utter failure.

Next to him the eldest daughter:
She suggested very little,
Only asked if he would take her
With her look of ‘passive beauty.’

Her idea of passive beauty
Was a squinting of the left-eye,
Was a drooping of the right-eye,
Was a smile that went up sideways
To the corner of the nostrils.

Hiawatha, when she asked him,
Took no notice of the question,
Looked as if he hadn’t heard it;
But, when pointedly appealed to,
Smiled in his peculiar manner,
Coughed and said it ‘didn’t matter,’
Bit his lip and changed the subject.

Nor in this was he mistaken,
As the picture failed completely.

So in turn the other sisters.

Last, the youngest son was taken:
Very rough and thick his hair was,
Very round and red his face was,
Very dusty was his jacket,
Very fidgety his manner.
And his overbearing sisters
Called him names he disapproved of:
Called him Johnny, ‘Daddy’s Darling,’
Called him Jacky, ‘Scrubby School-boy.’
And, so awful was the picture,
In comparison the others
Seemed, to one’s bewildered fancy,
To have partially succeeded.

Finally my Hiawatha
Tumbled all the tribe together,
(‘Grouped’ is not the right expression),
And, as happy chance would have it
Did at last obtain a picture
Where the faces all succeeded:
Each came out a perfect likeness.

Then they joined and all abused it,
Unrestrainedly abused it,
As the worst and ugliest picture
They could possibly have dreamed of.
‘Giving one such strange expressions –
Sullen, stupid, pert expressions.
Really any one would take us
(Any one that did not know us)
For the most unpleasant people!’
(Hiawatha seemed to think so,
Seemed to think it not unlikely).
All together rang their voices,
Angry, loud, discordant voices,
As of dogs that howl in concert,
As of cats that wail in chorus.

But my Hiawatha’s patience,
His politeness and his patience,
Unaccountably had vanished,
And he left that happy party.
Neither did he leave them slowly,
With the calm deliberation,
The intense deliberation
Of a photographic artist:
But he left them in a hurry,
Left them in a mighty hurry,
Stating that he would not stand it,
Stating in emphatic language
What he’d be before he’d stand it.
Hurriedly he packed his boxes:
Hurriedly the porter trundled
On a barrow all his boxes:
Hurriedly he took his ticket:
Hurriedly the train received him:
Thus departed Hiawatha.

Michel Polnareff – C’Est Ta Ta Ta Ta

The post below was written in September 2006 and marks the early days of my infatuation with the French iconic musician.

Original post – 28/09/2006

I’ve written somewhere that I adore Michel Polnareff, but now I also adore all web users who’ve collected and uploaded his videos for me to find them and to go totally mad with the man. 🙂 I’ve heard many of his songs before, but watching him perform, especially those early songs, is a different kind of experience. So much so that I’ve embedded one of his videos, ‘Ta Ta Ta Ta’, on my blog. It sounds like a medieval troubadour song, with a modern twist, and medieval music is one of my weaknesses. And so is Michel Polnareff.

Chorus:

The woman I love is ta-ta-ta,
The woman I love, she is not you.
The woman I love is ta-ta-ta,
The woman I love, she is not you.

I call myself your friend
And yet when your eyes
Meet with mine
I feel guilty,
I feel unhappy
But I can do nothing about it.

Chorus

I would love to talk to you
And to explain
But can find no words
I make up my mind
But I always leave it
Until tomorrow

Chorus

And what you take
For a song
That you like a lot
Is my declaration
Made my way
But you don’t understand it

Chorus

Voting: Should We Give Power to the People?

In a post I wrote in Russian I reflected on the fact that in one superstore in Moscow city centre the till operator didn’t even attempt to give me change. It was only 10 kopeks, one tenth of a ruble, but let’s face it: it’s still the money, and it is my money, after all. When I asked her to give me change, she was kind of surprised. Later I found out that there are some citizens who do not take change as small as 10 kopeks. They leave it either in the till or on the table where it is hunted after by tramps and alcoholics.

I wasn’t going to share the story in English, but Seth Godin came up with a post Voting, Misunderstood. Taken at face value, it is a reminder to us how successful advertising can be. Politicians “are all bums”, we’re told, and the electorate is carefully discouraged from ever attending the elections. Nobody believes in the system, so they think the best way to oppose it is by ignoring it. “Voting is free. It’s fairly fast. It doesn’t make you responsible for the outcome, but it sure has an impact on what we have to live with going forward”, says Godin.

The entire life is constituted of rights and duties, and when we claim to possess a certain right, it is our duty to exercise it. What happens when we withdraw from exercising it? We’re relegating our power to whoever wants to seize it, or else we’re indicating that we don’t really need to have this right. And whoever has seized it, has then got the power to make us follow their rules – because they have the right to do so. Claiming that they don’t will no longer work: after all, we willingly gave our power away.

The question of being able to vote and to make one’s voice heard has been ever so important in Russia for years. However, the story with the till operator and the different reactions to it show one curious thing. It is our right to earn money, pay money, and receive change. And it is the duty of the till operator to give us the change. When she doesn’t do so, she effectively usurps our right to our money. Would you let a till operator decide what to do with your earnings?

The situation is aggravated, for me, by the fact that, by allowing the operator to keep my change, I either maintain the numbers of alcoholics and tramps, or I enrich the superstore. Will you blame me for not wanting to do either? If only the superstore was participating in a charity program to alleviate poverty in the capital, I would be among the first to put my ten kopeks in the charity bucket. But there is no such program, and I refuse to abdicate my right to decide where to put my money.

I wasn’t alone on that occasion, so I didn’t pursue the change. I’m glad I didn’t though, because I now have a range of responses to the story, some of which prompted me to contemplate our worthiness of certain right we claim for ourselves.

The problem is in the obvious incongruity between our image of ourselves as politically savvy citizens and the real state of things. For, if we could indeed understand something about politics, we would know that big changes start with small things. If we want to make our right to vote be taken seriously, we’d better show how serious we are, as far as our everyday rights are concerned. If we can let a till operator decide whether or not to give us money, what makes us think that we are worthy of more important rights, like the right to vote? If we can so easily abdicate our power in an everyday situation, what confidence does it give in our abilities as citizens?

Image credit: Ucoin.net.

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