Robert Rozhdestvensky. The song before last

These poems were not written by Rozhdestvensky to be published and reveal his true civil position.

Article Editor: Mark Beygelzimer, PhD, systems analyst, head of the Trust but Verify project.

Reference: Robert Rozhdestvensky (June 20, 1932 - August 19, 1994) occupies a special place among Soviet poets. His unique poetic talent was expressed in the creation of poems of stunning purity, deeply penetrating the human soul. Rozhdestvensky's early works were filled with pathetics and pathos, for which the authorities favored him, and contemporaries considered him "the most Soviet" poet. Despite this, being a decent and intelligent man, Rozhdestvensky was not a careerist and always defended liberal values.

Photo, text source: NewConcepts.

The English text below is a verbatim, not a literary translation of the Russian-language original

The song before last
 
Old Walkers.
Young nights...
Half the country is people pleasers.
Half the country is informers.
 
In the thawed fields,
free will breathes...
Half the country is a stage transporter.
Half the country is convoy.
 
Patent leather shoes.
Grandma's gingerbread...
Half the country is criminals.
Half the country is guards.
 
The lieutenant looks out the window.
He drinks and won’t stop...
Half the country is already in jail.
Half the country is getting ready.

* * *

From the weather forecast

“In the Non-Black Earth Region,” according to the forecast, “
the snow cover will sharply decrease... During the day , there will be thunderstorms in places
over the capital . And in some places there is blood on the asphalt..."

* * *
 
In a state where honest people are at odds,
everything goes somewhere,
flows somewhere:
strength,
money,
the twentieth trolleybus,
the absurdity of twisted destinies...
Everything goes somewhere,
flows slowly:
an inflamed summer,
after the summer - the soul.
Clouds in deafening blue.
Faucet in the kitchen.
Minds from Russia.

* * *
 
Breaking our foreheads against the wall,
flying into interstellar space,
we are still slaves.
 
SLAVES!
 
Our slavery is ineradicable.
And a feeling of shame
lives in almost every argument...
The lower we bowed then,
the louder we curse afterwards!

* * *
 
And we dig out the living 
 
And we dig out the living,
finding them by the sound of their hearts,
from under the centuries-old granite
ruins
of the Leader’s statue.
From under the collapsed phrases
that meant nothing.
And hear:
“Don’t save us!”
We will die
in His name!..
 
Dig out from under the lies.
And cry.
And shout into the darkness:
- Give me your hand!..
- I don’t believe you!
But I believe
in Him alone!..
- These are the facts!..
- I spit on them
on behalf of the entire regiment!!!
 
And we
have to dig up the living.
Still alive.
Alive for now.
And we need to convince
children who are not free
with our pain.
And again
dig up the living.
To become alive ourselves.

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