Poets with Guitars/ Поэты с гитарами

Session 2

Today, I would like to share with you the world of a very dear to me original genre of Russian Soviet авторская песня or бардовская песня. The best way to describe this cultural phenomena is as poets singing their poems with guitar accompaniment.  Usually, I stay away from Wikipedia, but the article about Soviet bards is very informative. So here it is:

The term bard (Russian: "бард" bard) came to be used in the Soviet Union in the early 1960s, and continues to be used in Russia today, to refer to singer-songwriters who wrote songs outside the Soviet establishment, similarly to beatnik folk singers of the United States. Because in bard music songwriters perform their own songs, the genre is also commonly referred to as author song ("авторская песня" avtorskaya pesnya). Bard poetry differs from other poetry mainly in the fact that it is sung with simple guitar accompaniment as opposed to being spoken. Another difference is that this form of poetry focuses less on style and more on meaning. This means that fewer stylistic devices are used, and the poetry is often in the form of a narrative. What separates bard poetry from other songs is the fact that the music is far less important than the lyrics; chord progressions are often very simple and tend to repeat from one bard song to another. A far more obvious difference was the commerce-free nature of the genre; songs were written to be sung and not to be sold.

Stylistically, the precursor to bard songs were Russian "city romances," also known as urban romances, which touched upon common life and were popular throughout all layers of Russian society in the late 19th - early 20th centuries. These romances were traditionally written in a minor key and performed with a guitar accompaniment.

Bard poetry may be roughly classified into two main genres: tourist song and political song, although some other subgenres are also recognized, such as outlaw song (blatnaya pesnya) and pirate song.

Initially the term "bard" was used by fans of the tourist song genre, and outside these circles, the term was often perceived as slightly derisive. However there was a need for a term to distinguish this style of song from the traditional mainstream pop song, and the term eventually stuck.

Many bards performed their songs for small groups of people using a Russian guitar, and rarely, if ever, would they be accompanied by other musicians or singers. Those who became popular were eventually able to hold modest concerts. Bards were rarely permitted to record their music, given the political nature of many of their songs. As a result, bard tunes usually made their way around via the copying of amateur recordings (known as magnitizdat) made at concerts, particularly those songs that were of a political nature.

Read more  here.

Грушинский Фестиваль/ Grushinkskiy Festival is the most popular venue of the genre and has been held since 1968 not far from Samara ( a city in Russian Federation on the Volga river) . It was founded in commemoration of a student Valeriy Grushin who tragically died while saving drowning children. You can get all the info about the festival on its official site here.

There is also a dedicated site of the genre where you can find texts of the songs, mp3 files, biographies, photos, etc. -  www.bards.ru

And now, please enjoy a few songs of the bards whose poetry and songs are loved by many generations of  Homo Sovieticus.

(Translator's Note: Poetry is the most difficult genre to translate - so please be generous: this translation is for 'technical' purposes only. If anybody would like to take a crack at a proper literary translation-- I 'm looking forward to hearing form you.)

Булат Окуджава (1924 - 1997) 

Пожелание друзьям/ Wish to friends                               

Давайте восклицать, друг другом восхищаться. Высокопарных слов не стоит опасаться. Давайте говорить друг другу комплименты Ведь это всё любви счастливые моменты.  Давайте горевать и плакать откровенно, То вместе, то поврозь, а то попеременно. Не надо придавать значения злословью –  Поскольку грусть всегда соседствует с любовью.  Давайте понимать друг друга с полуслова, Чтоб, ошибившись раз, не ошибиться снова. Давайте жить во всем друг другу потакая, Тем более что жизнь короткая такая.

Let’s exclaim admiring each other. We should not be afraid to use high praises. Let’s tell each other compliments, since they are all  happy moments of  love. Let’s be sad and cry sincerely, together or separately, or in turn. One shouldn’t pay too much attention to badmouthing, as sadness is an eternal neighbor of love. Let’s learn to understand each other, so that we don’t repeat our mistakes. Let’s live spoiling each other, Since life is so short.

Юрий Визбор  (1934 - 1984)   

Наполним музыкой сердца!/Let’s fill our hearts with music!

Наполним музыкой сердца! Устроим праздники из буден. Своих мучителей забудем, Вот сквер - пройдемся ж до конца. Найдем любимейшую дверь, За ней - ряд кресел золоченых, Куда с восторгом увлеченных, Внесем мы тихий груз своих потерь, Внесем мы тихий груз своих потерь.  “Какая музыка была, Какая музыка звучала!" Она совсем не поучала, А лишь тихонечно звала. Звала добро считать добром, И хлеб считать благодеяньем, Страданье вылечить страданьем, А душу греть вином или огнем.  И светел полуночный зал. Нас гений издали заметил, И, разглядев, кивком ответил, И даль иную показал. Там было очень хорошо И все вселяло там надежды, Что сменит жизнь свои одежды, Ля-ля-ля-ля, ля-ля-ля-ля-ля-ля.  Наполним музыкой сердца...

Let’s fill our hearts with music and make holidays out of weekdays. Let’s forget our torturers. Here’s a park—let’s cross it to the end. Let’s find our most favorite door, with the row of gilded chairs behind it, where, excited enthusiasts, we will carry in the  burden of our losses. What a  music that was! What a wonderful music sounded! It was not lecturing, but it was calling ever so slightly. It was calling to take goodness for goodness, and to consider bread a blessing. It was calling to cure suffering by suffering, And to warm  a soul with wine or fire. The midnight hall is brightly lit. The genius noticed us from afar. When he had taken a good look at us, he nodded in  response and pointed at a different horizon. It was a wonderful place, and everything empowered us with hope that  life will change its clothes, La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la-la. Let’s fill our hearts with music.

Владимир Высоцкий (1938-1980)

Я не люблю/ I do not like

Я не люблю фатального исхода. От жизни никогда не устаю. Я не люблю любое время года, Когда веселых песен не пою.  Я не люблю открытого цинизма, В восторженность не верю, и еще, Когда чужой мои читает письма, Заглядывая мне через плечо.  Я не люблю, когда наполовину Или когда прервали разговор. Я не люблю, когда стреляют в спину, Я также против выстрелов в упор.  Я ненавижу сплетни в виде версий, Червей сомненья, почестей иглу, Или, когда все время против шерсти, Или, когда железом по стеклу.  Я не люблю уверенности сытой, Уж лучше пусть откажут тормоза! Досадно мне, что слово "честь" забыто, И что в чести наветы за глаза.  Когда я вижу сломанные крылья, Нет жалости во мне и неспроста – Я не люблю насилье и бессилье, Вот только жаль распятого Христа.  Я не люблю себя, когда я трушу, Обидно мне, когда невинных бьют, Я не люблю, когда мне лезут в душу, Тем более, когда в нее плюют.  Я не люблю манежи и арены, На них миллион меняют по рублю, Пусть впереди большие перемены, Я это никогда не полюблю.

I do not like the fatal outcome. I never get tired of life. I do not like any time of the year when I don’t sing happy songs. I do not like overt cynicism, nor do I believe in exaltation, and also, I don’t  like when a stranger is reading my letters looking  over my shoulder. I do not like when a conversation is rudely  interrupted. I do not like when they shoot in the back, I’m also against shooting point-blank. I hate rumors masked as versions, worms of doubt, needle of honors, or when rubbing against the grain, or when scraping with metal on glass. I do not like self-confidence of the rich, I’d rather my breaks fail! I regret that the word “honor” is forgotten, and that badmouthing behind one’s back is in honor. When I see broken wings, I do not have pity, I have my reasons-- I like neither violence nor helplessness, I feel  sorry only for crucified Christ. I do not like myself when I’m afraid. It offends me when the innocent are beaten. I do not like when they pry into my soul, and even more when they spit into it. I do not like circus rings and arenas, they exchange one million into one ruble there. Let there be big changes ahead, I will never like all this.