SONG OF THIEVES (Russia)


1.
"We are forced to pull our left ear with our right hand,
 and our right ear with our left hand.
 We work as, in ancient times, Comrade Aesop worked.
 It is a stunt. But what else can we do?"
     blatnaya pesnya (underworld song)
     bardovskaya pesnya (bard song)
     avtorskaya pesnaya (author's song)
                                        (guitar poetry)
                                        (songs to seven strings)
                                        (magnitizdat)
"It is possible to come across recordings made domestically on deficient equipment.
 There is usually considerable surface noise and distortion of sound;
 (Repeated copying on different machines causes quite wide variations in tape speed,
   rendering a voice unrecognisable, converting a baritone into gabbling contralto).
 There is a range of assorted clunks and pops as the mike is shifted or bumped.
 And persistent background noise, like vehicles passing in the street outside,
 or the footsteps and voices of neighbours.
 Most of all the sounds of semi-conspiratorial audience.
 The creak of furniture, the chink of bottle against glass, coughs and muttered comments,
 requests, repartee with the singer, warm or bitter laughter,
 pregnant silence at the conclusion of a particularly telling song
 followed by a bustle of relieved, tension-breaking movement and murmuring."


2.
THE BLACK CAT

There's a courtyard in our building,
that's where you'll find the back door,
and behind it lives a Black Cat ―
esconsed here like some lord.

There's a smirk behind his whiskers,
darkness shields him like a wall,
and this Black Cat remains quiet
while all others caterwaul.

He keeps smirking in his whiskers,
hasn't caught a mouse of late,
catches us on our loose lips,
on a bit of tempting bait.

He does not request or order ―
When his yellow eye burns bright,
every one of us forks over,
thanking him with all our might.

He won't meow and he won't purr ―
he just gorges, drinks and gloats.
And he paws at dirty floorboards
like he's clawing at our throats.

That is why the place we live in
is so dark and dreary still,
we should really hang a light bulb ―
but can't seem to foot the bill.


3.
No friends, you know
Stalin is guilty as hell!
Even now, he is
Buried and the service is over ―
He smiles from the screen
And you are no more.
     Behind the iron door a soldier is stamping...
     A young investigator is shaking his fist...
     The leader is hiding in a tower on the Moscow river...
     He no longer trusts anyone
     As though he built a prison for himself.
     He sits there, bent over,
     Kneading clay on the potting wheel,
     And as if by magic,
     Through forest and sea
     The population marched 
     Towards the Magadan camps.
Let's think up a despot...
Then there won't be a single person responsible,
So long as we create him together
And let him bully us from the darkness,
Until in the end it becomes obvious
That we are his creations as well.
     In a park, in the market, in a tram
     As an equal he breathes at our backs
     And nobody reminds him of the evil
     And nobody even avoids him.
     But he watches, watches without blinking,
     The rounded backs of the grandchildren's heads.
     How many years has it been now?
     That the rifleman goes home
     To drink vodka and caress his wife.
No, my friends, you know
He is my neighbour.
He is my compatriot
And brother in the family of man,
And the procession of innocent years
All seems to be a momentary nonsense.


4.
Many times, many ways, we played silent parts,
But that silence meant 'yes' and not 'no'.
We exist without sensing the land beneath our feet
But where people manage half a conversation,
They mention the mountain-dweller in the Kremlin.
     It is getting dark.
     It is a blessed time for cats.
     Oblique shadows crawl over the curtains.
     And I am ready to confess in whisper to pride.
     I am ready to confess to bloody anything!
A raven comes at night.
He is the helmsman of my sleepless nights.
Even if I scream
It is only heard five steps away
but even this is too loud, they say.
     The crows around me are shouting!
     'Don't judge and you won't be judged'
     'You leave us alone, we leave you alone'
     Liars are entreating me
     All is allowed except for words.
But once in an oak chamber,
I was called on the carpet,
I saw such terrible faces
That were scarier than carnival masks!
           They had faces almost like faces,
           Their words were almost like words.
Around a square table,
And with my guilt as a background,
They took turns in swearing
Loyalty to each other!
     Here I stand...Can it be so strange, then?
     I've been grassed on so very often
     For things I have said in a whisper
     Some were surprised that I was still a free man.
     'You'd be sleeping a whole lot softer with me rotting away in Siberia?'
Just an ordinary tape recorder, but it's sufficient.
Is it the chosen alone who may judge?
I'm not chosen, but I shall judge!
People will forgive me out of indifference,
But I shan't forgive them, the indifferent!



----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1.  Quotes:  Sophie Pinkham, 2014, 'Making Deals in the Paradise of Thieves: Leonid Usteov,                                                  Arkadii Severnyi, and Blatnaia Pesnia', Ulbandus Review, vol                                                     16, pp 189-90, (Leonid Usteov 1965)
                   Gerry Smith, 1974, 'Whispered Cry: The Songs of Alexander Galich', Index on                                                        Censorship, vol 3, no 3, p 11, (author 1974)

2.  Song:  THE BLACK CAT, Presenka prochyornogo kot, Bulat Okudshava 1957, 1958, 1959,
                                             (translator Maria Bloshteyn)

3.  Song Extracts:  Bulat Okudshava 1955.... (translator Magdalena Romanska 2002)
                              Stoit zadrenat nemnogo; Palachi brata moegi Givi; Davaite pridurnaem                                      despota; Pis'mo k mame; Ne slishkom-to izyskan vid za oknami; Ne uspel 
                              na  zhizn obidet'sia; Iz stikhov generala Opochinina 1812 goda.

4. Song Extracts:  Alexander Galich 1965... (translator Lidia Rura 2010)
                             Fame is the Spur; Train; An Evening Stroll; Without a Title; A Draft of an                                     Epitaph; Paternal House; From My Petty Trouble; A Raven Comes At Night;
                             Going To Sleep and Waking Up; Song of Exodus; In The Night Comes..;                                   We're As Good as Horatio.

     
 
 

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