Macho also known as Lazutchyk*

February 27, 2007 It’s a thankless matter speaking about such personalities of the literary business, as of today almost show business, but I can try. Lazutchyk is one of those alkaline young men-energizers, whom my late grandmother (God rest her soul) said had ants in his pants. His battery is constantly being charged, and there’s a bottle in each hand. Five minutes to turning a wee 30 years-old, instead of getting a decent job, moving up the career ladder, getting married, having children to his parents’ delight, drinking beer with colleagues, and spending the weekend with a fishing rod on the river bank – he reels around Ukraine and Europe attending festivals, performs, gets drunk, seduces girls, writes poems, publishes dubious articles in dubious magazines, and even poses for photographs for them.

Lazutchyk is pre-disposed to acting, and skillfully uses his talent on the poetic tatami stage. He also has in his arsenal many everyday stage-faces: lyric, pickpocket, lyric-pickpocket, hero, lover, hero-lover. “Here in the morning I’m perhaps still Sokil-Kyiv**, / but by night I’m already the Chicago Bulls.”

In my opinion, certain heated tongues in contemporary Ukrainian literature are totally mistaken in calling Lazutkin a cynic. He’s no cynic at all. He’s simply defending himself, adeptly masking himself on a territory that’s breached by rounds of gunfire and where the Finnish knives hurtle into backs unsuccessfully turned away from the enemies. For people like him, the stab wounds of life can only be healed with women, so that after a successful battle, having licked his wounds and untied his recently obtained ‘tongue’, Lazutchyk can look back and see “strolling alone along a southern sea […]/ my war has been concluded / my heart rests beneath the pines / my birds hover above the waves / not knowing where to land / so much freedom / all around / so much freedom.” And what is he to do with it, alone?!

You may not believe it, but people like Lazutchyk are invited to join the secret services, it’s almost thrust upon them. Nonetheless, he, as a thinking and searching person, is constantly nagged by doubts over what one of the heathen and Christian Gods, who goes by the name Love, might have to do with all this.

yet love
is perhaps just a few words
after quick sex
before fast food . . .

However, when the moments of weakness pass, Dmytro is steadfastly confident that: “I could moan about you for so much longer so much longer / twisting my joints with hardly necessary words.” But this is merely a pause, a rest, time flies, it whips you across the shoulders, the head, beats back any and all desire to make it in time for the echelon of love, which isn’t going to wait for you in any weather. For now, Lazutchyk will be rescued by poems in which he masters himself, bites down on his torment, and will write about it as evidence of his defeat over his personal demons:

when we’re separate it’s tastier – temptation boredom alcohol . . .
but games – because we are playing – are similar to wars
the roles are assigned
everything is simple
learn your role.

But afterwards . . . afterwards everything will be covered in chocolate, and the sky in a zephyr! And the beast of love, which devours you from within, will emerge and won’t leave you any chance at victory. And this will be to Lazutchyk’s great human fortune! “I like it when / your neck-shoulders-thighs / get covered with bite marks / I love you so much / I can’t kiss you” – he will say to his eternal and unattainable, star-like, bride, adding, on the subject of himself and all of us – “it happens- / you want to start with a clean slate / but end up coming- / onto dirty sheets.”

You have to hear this kamikaze who “goes down the drain” and will willingly accompany you to your favorite fishing place if you promise him vodka and girls. And regardless of your promises he will find this entertainment on his own during your boring fishing trip! Afterwards Lazutchyk will scare away all your fish with his pointless poems, which you must hear him read out at least once, so that later, when reading his books his recitation resounds in your ears and prevents you from sleeping. Dmytro Lazutkin simply demands that you check out his poetic sincerity live, follow the language of his body and the timbres of his voice. “You think people die this way? / hit me / squeeze out breathe out/ come out under the pouring rain bitch come out under the pouring rain!!!”

Suddenly you see that what’s written above is a eulogistic lie. Go to a performance by Dmytro Lazutkin in your town, invite him, after all. “And it’s worth hurrying / while the electricity is on / while the heart hasn’t stopped / while I feel the first and second / equally acutely.” And if you have the courage for something similar – do it better than him, try, prove that you’re capable of more than he is! * Lazutchyk is the diminutive of the surname Lazutkin and in Ukrainian means a spy, scout, an emissary.

** Professional ice hockey team from Kyiv.