writers, i wrote to him “the door is at vitya urin’s, a literary man,” so he introduced me there to santakolskyhat’s a word, tsvetaeva’s friend there, well, sort of, and one night he , that means, told me here is pavel, at night the bell rings at my house, and my mother calls you to the phone, some adult, he says, mother i come up and i was about 20 years old, and if you would like to come to me immediately, well, some kind of glory says. my selection in the new world, and volodya sokolov, a wonderful poet, meets and says: “you violated my monopoly.” i say, what is it? i am the only poet who is published by both october and the new world. igor, well, look, on the one hand, these are things of bygone days, and so on. on the other hand, is there no nostalgia in this sense, how many publications there are in magazines, now there are magazines, but absolutely, now a brilliant poet will appear, will publish something in literature or in the new world. no one will notice, no one will notice, because what’s the matter, because in russia, which is side-centric, because all politics in the 19th century