Susinova Ninel Biography

Ninel Zhozinov: “The year on prose did not include the leaders on the literary Olympus of Novosibirsk exclusively men and mostly prose writers. Ninel Zazinova is the author of 16 poetic collections. The latter “so far I am able to have a banal question, but it cannot be circumvented.

I wrote my first poem during the war when I was 10 years old. My parents sent me to the village of Altai Territory, to my grandmother, to fresh air and milk. There, for the first time, I really saw how the sun rises, and the poems in the newspaper brought from the district center in the village did not even shook me, it seems that it was a surkov written on the face of the child, and it was a refrain there: “Dad, kill the Nazis to write a letter to my father to the front with poems.

Then there were poems in the school wall newspaper - the first social order. In the verses, I fought, went to reconnaissance, threw grenades when they learned the teachers about poetry, were unusually amazed: where did it come from in a remote village? I myself often ask: from where? My mother was an uneducated woman, dad is an accountant, a self -taught self -taught man from the village accountants can really learn “on a writer” or “on a poet”, or is this a gift from God?

It seemed that in Moscow they certainly knew and would say whether it is necessary or not to do this. It is now I know that nothing can be determined by the first things - it happens, and ugly ducklings turn into swans, but it happens that the gives great hopes end up. Instead of a detailed review, I received a small piece of paper with an invitation to entrance exams to the Literary Institute and left Niigaik, where I studied then, and went.

Now I understand that it was not necessary to study there at all - what was said would be said without that. And in general, it was the fiftieth year, people with great life experience, front -line soldiers came to the institute, they had something to say, and they already knew how to say it. Many have already published books, and the Literary Institute and Moscow were the opportunity to establish contacts with magazines, editorial offices and publishers.

They prepared the manuscripts, they published books and I was nobody, and it was very inconvenient for me, it seemed that they had such! And if I wrote here, I almost fell silent there. And it was necessary to bring something to each seminar, she studied at the seminar of Mikhail Svetlova - T. In the end, I transferred to the correspondence. Writing is like a hobby, a lesson for the soul, plus to the main profession.

As far as I know, for many years you worked as an editor in the Novosibirsk book publishing house and literature for a writer is the main thing of life, indeed, always between business, nights or vacation. I now write at night, although there is no such need. I occupy a day anything - up to knitting and a “box”, nothing is done during the day. It has already entered the blood - write only at night.

At night, both mood, and condition, and quietly, and no one will call, will not call. Although, if you look superficially, it should have helped, stimulate. Stewart has a poem: “And the return song is already spreading the wing”-it happens that you read a good poem, you will catch up with it and feel that you have been to say this for a long time, only in form and philosophically differently, but it is only sometimes, rarely, and more often you write and catch yourself that something similar has already read you, it beats you with your hands and you have been in my hands and you have been in my hands.

You set up this poem editing, not just let the texts pass through yourself, but you climb into them, it becomes yours and it already interferes with writing your own, you are well aware of this. Complete profanity, especially poetry. You will reimburse the book in your hands, as Elizaveta Konstantinovna Stuart said - T. Before this was not there. The literature bar itself was raised high.

Grafomanism, of course, has always been, but not on such a mass scale. Now the feeling that almost every third or second writes and considers himself a poet. Everyone carries, carry, carry, and bring friends who previously reproached me for the chamber and lack of a civil position, now they scold for “lowness”, they say this is not poetry, but politics, but I believe that this is a lyrics of pure water, since whoever hurts, and then it was obvious not only to you.

Now a lot has changed, will you sign today under those words? Beauty is necessarily, it may not be concluded in the content, in philosophy, but in form it must be beautiful. That in the nest will hesitate, gets in, about that and the whistle rises from the branches. But it would be a sin for this whip to be angry with impostors from the semi -detergents: of them, perhaps, really the poet will be born, which is expected in my homeland.

They have not lived yet - they were only on the end of the spinning ship! Where was the love of their native land or respect for the grandfather's grave? But in whom the light did not light up, that - anything, but not a poet of night thoughts, but if it is poor, one - one. The saying is not every day, so with every week.