This year marks the 90th anniversary of the birth of Alexander Arkadyevich Galich. Once disgraced and banned, today Galich is represented by many publications. The All Galich collection is released on CD. And here's what is remarkable: Galich again sounds relevant, as if talking about our time
Galich is not known. They do not like and do not know. They do not love because of some stubborn inertia, not particularly bothering themselves with knowledge. He is still put on a par with Okudzhava and Vysotsky, they are listed as bards and author's songs. As if some prejudice remained: too angry, too social, too literary. In general, its value, as a rule, is limited by sociality. “That” time is gone, the dawn of dissidence is in the past, and the present time listens to the old words with boredom. If he listens.
Galich was not loved. Not all, but very many. Some for harshness, others for being a Jew, and still others for being a cross. They did not like for "poetic" claims, for acting charm and "secularism", for participation in the Soviet literary process and writer's well-being, for not sitting, for not staying, but leaving. His change, his abrupt break with the Soviet conjuncture seemed too demonstrative, too radical, and therefore insincere. He had "indoor" fame, kitchen recognition.
late guests
Interrupt the couplet.
They are driven in like nails
Because there are no more places
We won't remember their faces
It's like we're together
We will fill again
And let's drink on the hunt ...
Galich was somehow forgotten rather quickly. With the exception of some songs that have become, in essence, folk. Or popular ones: “Clouds are floating, clouds”, “When I return”, “Pervacha I took zero eight, koshalvy” ...
He remained in quotes, almost in maxims, aphorisms: “Our train leaves for Auschwitz”, “Keep silent - you will end up in executioners”, “I choose freedom”, “I speak like a mother, like a woman”, “These are the bastards of physics on a bet Spin the ball on the contrary”, “And my wife, comrade Paramonova, was abroad at that time ...” “We remember that the movement to the right begins with the left foot”, “And I asked him: “Is this blood?” - "Ink!" he replied. "Erika" takes four copies. That's all. And that's enough…” There are many quotes. Actually, this quote, commonplace Galich was tried and evaluated. But this is not all Galich. Not "All Galich" ...
Elite white louse
They didn't remember Galich, they didn't know when it became "possible" to listen to his songs, when books of his poems began to be published, when erased tapes were replaced by CDs. But now time has shifted once again - and the minuses of Galich turned into pluses. Yes, he is literary, emphatically and consciously, as can be seen from his introductions to the songs. He himself said that he likes to put epigraphs to his poems. In general, he seems to be closer to the pre-Soviet (non-Soviet) literary tradition, to those about whom he wrote: to Mandelstam, Pasternak, Akhmatova, Zoshchenko, Kharms. He quotes them with pleasure, and plays with quotes, and builds his text on them. He conveys already forgotten prosody, speaks in a language that seems to have disappeared and which surprises with almost archaic wealth: “katy”, “shalman”, “half”, “monopolka” or the Greek word “talasa” (sea) unexpectedly emerged from Sevastopol childhood. Galich can be harsh, but this sharpness is always textured and justified. He is generally accurate in details, he has neither random words nor random images. And some kind of "White louse" is not just a metaphor, but a very specific human "elite" white louse, from which neither "roasting" nor freezing barracks could save.
Yes, he is ideologically determined and cruel, emphatically, in Nekrasov's social way. It feels that Nekrasov's sociality, about which Merezhkovsky said: "Nekrasov gave voice to the mute truth of the famine." Galich also gave a voice to those who were doomed to silence. And in his songs, prisoners, campers, soldiers of the "generation of the doomed", the disabled, ordinary people, crushed by the Soviet government, spoke.
I love you, your eyes, lips and hair,
You tired that have become before the time
old,
You wretched, which newspaper strips,
Every day they praise the shameless
fanfare.
How many times have you been fooled, crushed, tossed,
How many times have you been seduced by temptations
futile.
And how the hell are you angry, and like the wind,
outgoing,
And, misers, how generous you are...
And you can see the level of shit. Actually, because of this Galic love, they talk, talk about themselves: the daughter of Petersburgers exiled to Karaganda, a woman who spent her whole life at the cash register in a store, a usher, left by her fiancé for the daughter of a party leader, a watchman of a timber industry enterprise, " princess from Nizhnyaya Maslovka, who once a month comes to a restaurant to drink lemonade and eat beef stroganoff, the waitress Tamarka, an elderly violinist in a shawl ...
Galich was the first to write about the confusion and mental chaos of the post-Stalin era, when silence drove the past into the present: “Bells, bells, Drunken stupidity hamezh. Where are the plaintiffs, and where are the defendants, Today you will not immediately understand. Almost all seem to be plaintiffs. All were punished by a single god, All are smeared with the same brilliant green, Some from bullets, and some from fleas. This uncertainty was the Soviet lie that obscured both the past and the present, which devalued the word itself: “Like a stone forest, it has become numb, We are standing at that boundary, Where the body seems to be not the body, Where the word is not only not the deed, But even not a word already. What certain assessments are there, what clarity. Why be surprised at today's relativism and cynicism, and the fact that Galich again sounds relevant.
Everything was cloudy and grey.
And the forest stood as if inanimate.
Only the weight of the shithead
She shook her head silently.
Not everything is in vain in this world,
Although the price is worthless to him.
Not everything is in vain in this world,
As long as weights exist
And you can see the level of shit.
My God, sometimes you think, is this, it seems, the only working device - broken.
