Language: Russian

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Город войны
(Timur Mucuraev / Тимур Муцураев)
The Last Border
(Jakov Petrovič Jadov / Яков Петрович Ядов)

23 августа 1968
23 agosto 1968
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Per la vostra libertà - e per la nostra. Lo striscione alla manifestazione di protesta sulla Piazza Rossa contro l'invasione della Cecoslovacchia - 25 agosto 1968
Per la vostra libertà - e per la nostra. Lo striscione alla manifestazione di protesta sulla Piazza Rossa contro l'invasione della Cecoslovacchia - 25 agosto 1968

Galich scrisse questa canzone il 22 agosto 1968 riferendosi al giorno precedente quando i carri armati sovietici invasero la Cecoslovacchia per fermare la politica di de-stalinizzazione del paese. Pochi giorni dopo un gruppo di persone organizzò una protesta sulla Piazza Rossa, forse influenzati dai versi conclusivi della poesia. I manifestanti furono tutti arrestati e chiusi in prigione o in manicomio.


Unlike Mandelstam, Galich was never eliminated physically, as he was famous outside of Soviet borders and it would cause trouble to the states if he were to be removed, so Galich was "free" to continue his work. Galich tended to write poems about current events in the USSR constantly, bringing unknown information to light across the globe. Galich wrote "Petersburg Romance" on 22 August, 1968, referencing the day prior, when Soviet tanks invaded Prague, the capital of Czechoslovakia due to the de-Stalinization of the country. He was one of the very few people that wrote about the events in a positive light, knowing that he may get problems because of it. It was made public almost immediately. A few days later, a group of eight went up and rebelled against the Soviet state and protested at Red Square, which may have been influenced by the poem's last few lines. They were all labelled as madmen and sent to either prison or an asylum, where they would be tortured for years.
An analysis on Galich's work

" Жалеть о нем не должно,
... он сам виновник всех своих злосчастных бед,
Терпя, чего терпеть без подлости - не можно..."
...Быть бы мне поспокойней,
Не казаться, а быть!
...Здесь мосты, словно кони -
По ночам на дыбы!
Здесь всегда по квадрату
На рассвете полки -
От Синода к Сенату,
Как четыре строки!

Здесь, над винною стойкой,
Над пожаром зари
Наколдовано столько,
Набормотано столько,
Наколдовано столько,
Набормотано столько,
Что пойди - повтори!

Все земные печали -
Были в этом краю...
Вот и платим молчаньем
За причастность свою!

Мальчишки были безусы -
Прапоры и корнеты,
Мальчишки были безумны,
К чему им мои советы?!

Лечиться бы им, лечиться,
На кислые ездить воды -
Они ж по ночам: "Отчизна!
Тираны! Заря свободы!"

Полковник я, а не прапор,
Я в битвах сражался стойко,
И весь их щенячий табор
Мне мнился игрой, и только.

И я восклицал: "Тираны!"
И я прославлял свободу,
Под пламенные тирады
Мы пили вино, как воду.

И в то роковое утро,
(Отнюдь не угрозой чести!)
Казалось, куда как мудро
Себя объявить в отъезде.

Зачем же потом случилось,
Что меркнет копейкой ржавой
Всей славы моей лучинность
Пред солнечной ихней славой?!

...Болят к непогоде раны,
Уныло проходят годы...
Но я же кричал: "Тираны!"
И славил зарю свободы!

Повторяется шепот,
Повторяем следы.
Никого еще опыт
Не спасал от беды!

О, доколе, доколе,
И не здесь, а везде
Будут Клодтовы кони -
Подчиняться узде?!

И все так же, не проще,
Век наш пробует нас -
Можешь выйти на площадь,
Смеешь выйти на площадь,
Можешь выйти на площадь,
Смеешь выйти на площадь
В тот назначенный час?!

Где стоят по квадрату
В ожиданьи полки -
От Синода к Сенату,
Как четыре строки?!

2014/4/14 - 22:16

Language: English

Versione inglese di di Gerald Smith

in Alexander Galich Songs and poems; transl. by Gerald Stanton Smith, Ann Arbor: Ardis, 1983, ISBN 0-88233-952-4

. . . Really, I should feel calmer,
Not just seem so, but be!
. . . But these bridges, like chargers
Every night, up they rear!
Here those regiments ever
Form a square in the dawn
Stretched from Synod to Senate
Like four lines of a poem!

Here, in vapors of liquor,
In the setting sun's flame,
There has been so much witchcraft,
So much covertly whispered;
There has been so much witchcraft,
So much covertly whispered-
Just try doing it again!

All the griefs of the earth have
Shown their face in this place . . .
Now we're paying with silence
For the part we have played!
. . . These boys with their beardless faces
Just subalterns were, mere ensigns;
These boys must have been quite crazy,
The last thing they need's my counsel!

They ought to be taking the waters,
Away at the spas and seaside;
Instead in the night they cry: "Patria!"
And: "Tyrants! The dawn of freedom!"
No subaltern I, but a colonel,
I've fought, stood my ground in battle;
I thought these young pups were merely
A rabble of childish prattlers.

I too have denounced dictators,
And liberty I have lauded;
Our fire-eating declamations
Were washed down with wine like water.
And then came that fateful morning;
It seemed not at all disgraceful,
So wise it seemed, so discerning,
To say that one wasn't available.

Oh why, then, should it have happened
That the glow of my famous story
Should dim like a moldering ha'penny
In the sun of their rising glory?
Worsening weather, wounds start aching,
The years go by, grey and cheerless;
But I did, I did curse dictators
And lauded the dawn of freedom!

Whisper's chain is unsevered,
We retrace others' steps-
But foreknowledge has never
Saved one man from his end,
For how long, for how long, Lord
Not just here-everywhere
Will those desperate horses
Still submit to the rein?

Things don't get more straightforward,
Our age puts us on trial-
There's the square- will you go out,
There's the square- dare you go out,
There's the square- will you go out,
There's the square- dare you go out
When the right time arrives?

2014/4/14 - 22:21

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