In 2018, thirty-eight years have passed since the death of Vysotsky. Much has happened in the country over the years, and indeed there is no longer the country in which the poet lived and worked. But there were people who remembered him, read his poems, sang his songs and first learned through the catchphrases of Vysotsky about his work. It still remains a mystery: how Vysotsky succeeded in the most diverse characters of his songs, speaking in accordance with the social stratum to which they belonged. Instantly reincarnating, he amazingly conveyed both grotesque situations and deeply tragic fate of people. Of course, he perfectly controlled the system of Stanislavsky, but such an instant transformation from one image to another can only be in one case: when the artist is truly genius.
How it all started
Every year, starting on July 25, 1980, Vladimir Vysotsky is remembered throughout the CIS. That day, the poet did not just die - an era ended. The brilliant artist died twice: the first time in Bukhara, where he was on tour, the second time in pre-Olympic Moscow, which at that moment was carefully "licked" from everyone who could at least somehow cast a shadow on the bright image of the "communist Raya". Death, apparently paying tribute to Vysotsky’s talent, held a dress rehearsal of his departure before finally wresting him from life.
Rereading the phrases of Vladimir Vysotsky, you pay attention first of all to how often he returned to the topic of death. It can be said that a premonition of death permeates his work with a red thread.
I will die someday - we will always die someday, -
How could I guess so that not myself - that in the back with a knife:
Killed are spared, funeral and pamper paradise, -
I will not say about the living, but we protect the dead.
My cheekbones from annoyance reduces:
It seems to me that year,
What is where I am - life passes there
And where there is no me - it goes.
Well that's all! The deep sleep is over!
Nobody permits anything!
I'm leaving, separate, lonely
Across the flying field from which they fly up!
And, smiling, my wings were broken
My wheezing sometimes looked like a howl
And I'm numb with pain and powerlessness
And he only whispered: “Thank you for being alive.”
... corridors end with a wall, and tunnels bring to light ...
- What would you give to your loved one if you were omnipotent ?! - Another life !!!
With me at the number 37, hops flies at the moment.
And now - it blew cold:
Under this figure, Pushkin made a duel for himself.
And Mayakovsky lay down on his barrel with his temple.
Linger on the number 37! God is cunning
- Edge of the question posed: either - or!
At this turn, Byron and Rimbaud lay down,
And the current ones somehow slipped through.
When I get drunk and play
Where I finish, on what - do not guess.
But only one thing I probably know
“I will not want to die.”
And burst in me patience lived
- And I passed on to you with death,
She circled around me for a long time,
Afraid of only hoarseness.
So everything that is prophesied comes true!
The train leaves for heaven - a happy journey!
Ah, how we want, how we all want
Do not die, namely fall asleep ...
... And did not have time to live, I did not have time to finish.
I'll give horses a drink
I'll sing the verse, -
Though I’ll stand still for a moment ...
From the word "peace" I just smelled like a dead man,
I absolutely denied the understanding of "peace".
If the day passed evenly, calmly,
So there was no day - I thought.
My friends went through the sieve:
They all got Summer or Prana,
Natural death is nobody
Everything is unnatural and early ...
“I live, not expecting a miracle,
But the veins swell with shame
- I want to get out of here every time.
Escape somewhere there.
Stubbornly I aim for the bottom
The breath is torn, crushes the ears.
Why go to the depths?
What was bad for me on land?
Who ended his life tragically is that true poet!
I am alone, everything is drowning in pharisaism:
Life to live is not a field to go over.
In the book of Marina Vladi "Vladimir. Interrupted Flight" there is a mention of the first meeting of little Volodya with death:
... one day you and the guys find a weapons warehouse and detonate grenade fuses. Three boys remain blind and disfigured for life. By pure chance, you are the only one left unharmed.
There are no accidents: fate had its own plans for this boy ...
The circumstances of the poet’s death have been said, and much more will be said, but it doesn’t matter how he died, it is important how he lived.
The border between before and after
“On the Edge” - this is how one can characterize the artist’s life style, and as confirmation of this - phrases of Vysotsky’s songs, his role, his love story ...
This was a chance meeting for Marina Vlady at the theater - Vladimir Vysotsky went to her for several years: from the moment I saw Marina in the famous "Sorceress".
“Finally, I met you.” These first words you uttered ...
She lived in the sun
Where there are no blue stars
Where the swans of High Flight can do ...
... But he overtook her there,
And happy one moment,
Yes, there was only that bright moment
Their swan song.
And from that moment their whole life was divided into "before" and "after" ...
What can we say about our meeting!
- I was waiting for her, as they expect natural disasters,
- But you and I immediately began to live,
Without fear of disastrous consequences.
Weekdays and Holidays
At the time of the meeting, each of them had relationships with other people, children from past marriages, and that experience, which people usually don’t tend to trust like that, right after the first meetings, but this is not about Vysotsky. An incredible flair told him that this woman should only be with him, and Vysotsky's famous phrases about love confirm this.
In my soul all goals are without a road
Search through it and you will find
Only two half-phrases, half-dialogs,
And the rest is France, Paris ...
Loved ones are more often and diligent,
Merry people love less, but faster.
And they love the silent, only less often,
But if they love, then stronger.
... And let me light candles in the evening
And your image envelops in smoke
But I don’t want to know that time heals,
That everything goes with him ...
I will no longer get rid of peace:
After all, everything that was in the soul a year in advance,
Unaware, she took with her
- First to the port, and then to the plane.
I'm in love with the fields
Let them sing in a dream and in reality!
I breathe, which means I love
I love, and that means - I live!
A woman for whom you did not fight, you do not dare to call dear.
If you didn’t like it, it means that you didn’t live or breathe!
... all but the best of friends are returning,
In addition to the most beloved and devoted women,
Everyone is returning, except those who are needed ...
In this world, I value only fidelity. Without this, you are nobody and you have no one. In life, this is the only currency that will never depreciate.
This is stupid - after all, who am I?
Waiting for me - no reason
You need another and peace
And with me - restless, sleepless.
Vysotsky was already considered an "odious person" and, as a consequence, was "restricted to travel abroad." His rhythm of life was incredibly crazy: he had four hours to sleep, and the rest of the time - rehearsals, tours, and poetry at night ...
And yet - meetings with friends, among whom were those who considered it their duty to treat the famous poet with a glass of vodka ... But Marina did not immediately learn about this side of Vysotsky’s life, but six months later, when he “broke loose”. It was a shock for her ...
Poets walk with their heels along the blade of a knife and cut their bare souls into the blood.
After some time, she fully realized that in Russia to be a friend, and even more so the wife of a genius, is a heavy cross. Remembering this period of their life together, Marina will write:
As soon as you disappear, in Moscow or abroad, the hunt begins, I “take a trace”. If you have not left the city, I will find you in a few hours. I know all the paths that lead to you. Friends help me because they know: time is our enemy, we must hurry.
And here one cannot help but recall the simple Russian woman Luce - a telephone operator who for many years helped friends of Vysotsky and Marina to find him anywhere in the country, as well as abroad, if necessary.
She was that fine thread that connected us with you both in grief and in joy, until the very last conversation. Her face, swollen from tears, I saw only later, when her participation could no longer help us find each other. The song "07" is a song about Luce.
For me, this night is illegal.
I write - at night there are more topics.
I grab the phone drive
I collect the eternal 07 ...
Nevertheless, what united these two was stronger than what opposed them: spiritual closeness, multiplied by a strong emotional attraction. One of the best phrases by Vysotsky will be a piercing appeal to the Almighty, dedicated to Marina Vladi:
... I'm less than half a century, forty-odd,
I am alive, twelve years you and the Lord keep.
I have something to sing, before the Almighty,
I have something to justify before Him.
"All-seeing eye"
It seems that there is no topic that Vladimir Vysotsky would not touch on in his poems. There was a paradoxical situation in the country: such a poet did not officially exist, but in any house one could find either a small flexible record or a cassette with his songs, and Vysotsky’s phrases became public property. It was unrealistic to silence him, let alone try to make him a "pocket" poet. But it was possible to significantly ruin his life, thereby provoking emotional breakdowns, and the Soviet system was very successful in this.
Your concerts are sometimes canceled right before going on stage, most often under the pretext of your illness, which infuriates you: you are not only forbidden to sing, but you are blamed for the disrupted concert. Your censored songs for films are still “not allowed in” just before the premiere, and the picture becomes crippled.
Texts relentlessly sent to Glavlit are invariably sent back with exaggeratedly polite regrets. (M. Vladi "Vladimir. Interrupted flight")
Such subtle, one might say, Jesuit mockery exhausted Vysotsky morally. Marina did not understand his reaction: why pay attention to bureaucratic tricks, if his popularity is already so great that no title will change anything. With one phrase, Vysotsky conveyed the principle of the state machine:
They do everything so that I do not exist as a person. There just isn’t that - and that’s it.
"Fight against the cotton wall" called Vysotsky daily exhausting control.
I was the soul of a bad society
And I can tell you:
My last name, first name, middle name
They knew perfectly well in the KGB.
We are vigilant - we won’t talk secrets,
They are in reliable, sinewy hands.
In addition, we do not know these secrets
- We trust clever secrets,
And we, God willing, are foolish.
On the left are demons, on the right are demons,
No! Pour me a new one!
These are from the bunks, and those from the chairs:
Do not understand what kind of evil.
We are just dolls, but ... look, we are dressed,
And here we are - residents of shop windows, salons, halls.
We are mannequins, silent models
We are only copies from live originals.
There was a time - I was torn in the first row,
And it's all from a misunderstanding
- But for some time now I have been sitting back:
There, in front, like an assault rifle in the back
- Heavy look, unkind breath.
Maybe the back is not so beautiful
But - much broader horizons,
More and run, and perspective,
And yet - reliability and review.
We are brought up in contempt for theft
And yet - to drinking alcohol,
Indifferent to foreign kinship,
In worship to the omnipotence of control.
We are always replaced by others so that we do not interfere with lies.
... when people hurt you again and again, think of them as sandpaper. They can hurt you and hurt you a little, but in the end you will be polished to a perfect state, and there will be no use in them.
Never judge at first sight neither a dog nor a person. Because a simple mongrel ... may have a kind soul, and a man of good looks ... may be a rare bastard ...
Thy soul seeks upward, be born again with a dream!
But if you lived like a pig, you will remain a pig!
Candles are melted
On an old parquet
And drains onto the shoulders
Silver with an epaulet.
Like wandering in agony
Golden wine ...
All the past goes away
“What comes is all the same.”
I have fate - to the last line, to the cross
Arguing hoarsely (followed by dumbness),
Convincing and proving with foam at the mouth
What - not that is all, not that and not that!
And although the executions did not mow us, we lived without raising our eyes,
“We, too, are children of the terrible years of Russia, timelessness poured vodka into us.”
I'm fed up to the chin
- I even got tired of the songs,
- Lie down like a submarine,
So that we could not detect!
Many times in Vysotsky’s poems and songs he will go through the theme of the Soul, deprived of the opportunity to reveal itself, limited by the scope of everyday life. At one of the meetings with the audience, the poet, answering questions about what is most important to him, said that it is easier for him to list what he does not like. Vysotsky’s harsh phrases became, one might say, the moral code of a whole generation:
I do not like when half
Or when the conversation was interrupted.
I don’t like being shot in the back,
I am also against point blank shots.
I hate gossip as versions,
Worms of doubt, honors the needle,
Or when all the time against the coat,
Or when iron on glass.
I do not like the confidence of a well-fed
Better let the brakes fail!
It's a shame to me that the word "honor" is forgotten
And what an honor of libel for the eyes.
When I see broken wings
There is no pity in me and for good reason -
I do not like violence and impotence,
That's just a pity for the crucified Christ.
I don’t like myself when I’re rubbing,
It is annoying to me when the innocent are beaten,
I don’t like when they get into my soul
Especially when they spit on her!
Why should I be the soul of society
When there is no soul in him at all!
The verge of creativity
And yet he was! It was impossible to get tickets to Vysotsky’s concerts and performances with his participation: people took the line from the evening, stood all night — all this to go beyond the boundaries established by the system along with Taganka actors.
The acting talent of Vladimir Vysotsky is a special topic. We can say that, as an actor, he took place contrary to: his mother did not understand him, and in an interview, Yu. Lyubimov told about his father’s attitude, who, trying to get support for Vysotsky’s compulsory treatment, received the response of Vysotsky Sr. I have ... ". Parents did not approve of his son's hobbies with either theater or poetry. Only on the day of death did they realize who their son was for the country when they saw thousands of people who came to the house of Vladimir Vysotsky ...
However, later Vysotsky Sr. will change his view on the work of his son ...
Your father plays in the provincial drama club, which will allow him to say in many years that he was an artist, and at the same time explain your talent as a natural continuation of his ... (M. Vladi "Vladimir. Interrupted Flight")
The acting of Vladimir Vysotsky leaves no one indifferent. The performances with his participation: “The Life of Galileo”, “Ten Days That Shook the World”, “Pugachev”, “Hamlet” - make the viewer look at themselves differently, reconsider their life, literally transforming the personality of everyone who has come into contact with Vysotsky’s work. Playing in the theater required tremendous exertion of both spiritual and physical strength. Vysotsky worked with full dedication, at the limit of possibilities, as if afraid not to have time to complete everything that he had outlined. He was really afraid not to be in time: in childhood he was diagnosed with a death in which a sudden heart attack was real. Vysotsky knew about it and lived with it.
Look - here he goes without insurance.
A little to the right of the slope - it will fall, it will disappear!
To the left of the slope - you still can’t save ...
But he must really need to get through!
How poems are born
It was an urgent need for Vysotsky to devote several hours a day to poetry. And again we turn to the memoirs of M. Vladi:
... For several hours you remain sitting, staring at the white wall. You do not tolerate a drawing, a picture, or even a shadow on the wall in front of you.
... You read me poetry - and this is one of the fullest minutes of our lives, involvement, deep unity. This is your highest gift to me. When I ask where it comes from, what makes you urgently need to write words on paper in a precisely defined order, sometimes without a single correction, you cannot answer. Apparently, you yourself are not particularly clear:
“It turns out - that's all.” And you add: "Sometimes it's hard, you know ..."
You lie with your eyes closed and barely have time to describe everything that flashes in your imagination with a tongue twister - color paintings with noises, smells and a lot of characters, the character and appearance of which you can convey in a few words. We call it "waking dreams." Usually they precede a large poem, which almost always deals with Russia.
Vysotsky's verses - the highest concentration of thoughts, emotions, events. Here everyone could find something about himself: Vysotsky’s phrases convey mood, originality, speech features, lifestyle, relationships, the intricacies of fate. Speaking in his works in the first person, the poet further enhances the impression of the authenticity of the events described. That is why many veterans could not believe that songs and poems on a military theme were written by a man who had never fought. The criminals believed that Vysotsky, if not one of them, then certainly sitting.
We don’t need plots and intrigues,
We all know about everything that you give.
I, for example, the best book in the world
I think our criminal code.
Well, what to talk about with you!
All the same, you will nonsense.
I’d better go to the guys to drink,
The guys have more important thoughts.
The guys have a serious conversation -
For example, about who drinks harder.
The guys have a broad outlook -
From the stall to our groceries.
Oh, where I was yesterday - I won’t find, even kill
I only remember that the walls are with wallpaper.
I remember, Keyboard was also a friend with her,
Kissing in the kitchen with both.
You don’t look that Sergey is nodding, -
He understands, understands everything!
And what is silent is from excitement,
From awareness and enlightenment.
Nevertheless, it is pleasant that they respect us here:
Look - drive up, look - plant!
It is not the rooster that wakes up in the morning, crowing, -
The sergeant will lift - as people!
We almost spend with music, as we sleep.
I’ve finished the rupe, - we’ll hangover!
Our penetration on the planet is especially pleasant in the distance: there are inscriptions in Russian in the public Paris toilet.
Fake note of universal enthusiasm
In 1977, Vladimir Vysotsky wrote a song that could be called the "Anthem of credulity and thoughtless existence":
Tender Truth walked in beautiful clothes,
Dressed up for orphans, blessed ones, cripples.
The Brutal Falsehood lured this Truth to itself, -
Like, stay with me for the night.
And the gullible Truth calmly fell asleep,
Drooling and smiling in a dream.
The cunning lie pulled the blanket over itself,
I dig into the truth and was completely satisfied.
And she got up and cut her face with a bulldog
- A woman is like a woman, and what to please her for?
There is no difference between Truth and Falsehood
Unless, of course, undress both.
Golden ribbons cleverly braided from braids
And she grabbed clothes, trying on by eye,
I took the money, and the clock, and more documents,
She spat, cursed filthily and went out.
Only in the morning I discovered the truth is missing
And she marveled, looking herself over businessly,
- Someone already, having obtained somewhere black soot,
I smeared out the pure Truth, but nothing.
The truth laughed when stones were thrown at her:
- This is all a lie, and on a lie - my robe! ..
Two blessed crippled protocol
And they called her bad words.
The bitch scolded her, and worse than the bitch,
They smeared clay, lowered the yard dog:
- That the spirit was gone! One hundred and one kilometer
Evict, send in twenty-four hours.
That protocol was an offensive tirade,
(By the way, someone else's affairs were hung by Truth):
Say, some scum is called Truth,
Well, and she, all as it is, was drunk naked.
Naked Truth swore, swore and wept,
She was sick for a long time, wandered, needed money.
Dirty Lie thoroughbred stole
And rode on long and thin legs.
However, it’s easy to get along with a deliberate lie,
True pricked her eyes and stuck with her.
Wandering now, incorruptible, on the road,
Because of his nakedness, avoiding people.
A certain eccentric is still fighting for Truth, -
True, in his speeches - the truth on a broken penny:
Pure Truth will triumph over time,
If it does the same as a manifest Falsehood.
Often spilling a hundred and seventy grams per brother,
You don’t even know where to spend the night.
They can undress - this is true, guys!
Look, your treacherous lies wear your pants.
Look, your insidious Lie looks at your watch.
Look, and the treacherous Lie rules your horse.
As a brilliant poet and actor, Vysotsky keenly felt the falsity, no matter how disguised it was. Thanks to his inimitable hoarse voice, it was already impossible to simply go with the flow to the lulling triumphant reports of labor success in all areas of the national economy.
We live in a world where a smile no longer means a good attitude towards you.
Where kisses do not mean feelings at all.
Where confession does not mean love.
Where everyone is alone and no one is trying to change it.
Where words lose all meaning because they carry a lie.
How not to miss a good face,
How honest to tell for sure to me?
Everyone learned to wear masks,
So as not to break your face on the stones.
I’ve got into the secret of the masks,
I am sure that my analysis is accurate,
What are the masks of indifference in others -
Protection against spitting and slapping.
We learn a lot from books
And truths are transmitted orally:
"There are no prophets in his own country."
But in other fatherlands - not a lot.
I never believed in mirages
In the coming paradise did not get along with a suitcase -
Teachers gobbled up a sea of ​​lies
And spat out near Magadan.
Bridges burned down, fords deepened,
And closely - we see only skulls,
And the outputs and inputs are blocked,
And there is one way - to where the crowd is.
Raise your hands, pop in the bins
Bulletins, without even reading, -
Die from boredom! Vote
Just chur, do not add me on:
I do not share your charter!
My country, like that holey body, is driven by a driver who doesn't care.
New Left - Brave Boys
With red flags in a riotous mob
Why are you so attracted by sickles and hammers?
Maybe you are smoked and pinned ?!
Listening to the half-mad speakers:
"Expropriation of the expropriators ..."
I see portraits over clubs of a couple -
Mao, Dzerzhinsky and Che Guevara.
... Do not look at me, that lips tightened, -
If the word flies out, then it’s evil.
I would have escaped from here in slippers to the taiga, -
Somewhere I will burrow - and I will conquer!
But to say that Vladimir Vysotsky lost hope for the best and saw everything in a black light means not to understand him at all. He saw different sides of life, but his work served to ensure that the world began to sparkle with bright colors.
Not true, there is not an abyss above us, not darkness, -
Catalog of rewards and retaliation.
We admire the night zodiac
To the eternal tango of the constellations.
We look, threw back our heads up,
In silence, mystery and eternity.
There are trails of fate and our instant century
Marked as invisible milestones,
What can store and protect us.
We take purity, simplicity from the ancients ...
Sagas, tales from the past dragging ...
Because good remains good -
In the past, future and present!
Vladimir Vysotsky passed away too soon. However, despite this, he continues to live in our time in his songs and poems, which descendants carry from the last century to the present century.