Translated material
Traturation Day
Two addresses. Moscow, Arbat, "At Grauerman." And, like a funeral, the news from the French military hospital in clamar. Between them, these dates and addresses, his life fit. Both gratitude and pain of three at least generations fascinated by Okudzhava songs. Wastefulness means a secret that cannot be comprehended, as you can’t retell a song in your own words or sing it, imitating a bard with all your might.
That unique, quiet voice with his divine intonation fell silent forever, remaining only in the old records on the crumbling films of the Shostkin chemical plant, on plates, on cassettes, on CD, on sites on the network. And to be a stranger to explain how we fell in love with this voice, and why so many fascinated wanderers fit into the last trolley, which circled in the accompaniment of the three chords. And what roosters shouted about all night. And for which it was necessary to forgive the unreasonable infantry. And why the war is vile, no matter how much its cult and decorate with St. George ribbons, about which he had no idea. In any case, in relation to the war in which he participated, was wounded near Mozdok, remained alive.
War - vile, no matter how much its cult and decorate with St. George ribbonsGod, who is not, in those years addressed us differently. A hoarse, desperate cry of Vysotsky. Tired, rising to angry pathos by the Moscow Artinee Bariton Galich. And with this voice, inexplicable, as the word "Volshba". Talking about the hopes and errors of his generation, Okudzhava repeatedly said that his peers were not revolutionaries. They only dreamed of humanizing the Soviet regime. I don’t know who Bulat Shalvovich had in mind, but this amazing word “humanize” was most approached by him and what he did in literature.
What is literature? The air was different, until he lived with his presence - in Moscow and near Moscow, at the Michurinets station - he humanized this life, ennobled, encouraged demons from the invasion. With the so -called Soviet power and after the indestructible union fell quite peacefully.
Generally speaking, the task of "humanization" is not the main in art. Perhaps the level of livestock in society should go off the way so that such a poet will appear into the world. Although it is possible that many of his songs Okudzhava could sing in other eras, in other circumstances, in other lands. They just would not have sounded so in a country where conscience, nobility and dignity would be common words. And in a state, where with these words they breathed like fresh air, the poet's voice cleared from stench and soul and heart. The very presence of Okudzhava in the city, in the country, on the planet healed reality. Not much, by milligrams. However, enough.
Life without Okudzhava turned out to be even harder than it seemed in those farewell June days. He foresaw this, and in his late verses, and in the last songs he tried to humanize the reality that came after his life. Under the leadership of people whom he did not find at the top of power, but distinguished in the crowd, knew and despised. About which he wrote, hoping that they would come not tomorrow:
My timidity will be alien to them
They will be more relaxed and evil ...
Envy, hatred and enmity
They will grow over the expanses of their fields.
Today is Victory Day, Bulat Okudzhava is 90 years old, and here is a strangeness: about him, a sad soldier by the past war, a veteran of the Great Patriotic War is somehow more joyful than about the holiday. The holiday is poisoned and vulgarized by new "victories", which are akin to the early Nazi Anschluses, and to survive in the midst of this madness, having gotten a bite of the cries of victorious, can only be alone. Reading his poems. Listening to his songs. Following unsuccessfully, after him, to humanize the current Russian life.
As then, in a small territory, in the cramped space of personal life, fenced off from the occupation forces of a hostile state and looter military parades. However, the fascinated wanderers, the listeners of his first songs and their children did not still leave or reborn. And as long as the voice of Okudzhava sounds, rewritten from the old tapes on new media, hope is alive and alive love, which controls those immortal orchestric. And a feeling of gratitude on this day overflows the soul, connecting with verses, voice and music of eternal loss.
Ilya Milstein - political commentator and publicist
Opinions expressed under the heading "Law" may not reflect the point of view of the Radio Liberty editorial