Русское зазеркалье (двуязычная версия)

Do not you think that the ten lines I have just quoted aptly describe the history of the last two—or ten—millennia? This bleak vision of us humans as irrational, cynical, cruel, and forgetful beings that never improve, so close to the picture that Matthew Arnold creates in his Dover Beach, gives no space for a more optimistic, more Christian view on humanity, sadly so. I wonder, too, if you subscribe to this vision. I also wish you could explain to me the difference between the two poets (in terms of their weltanschauung, that is). You would have to re-read Dover Beach in order to do that.

The lyrics of Victor Tsoi’s ‘Blood Type,’ ‘The Star Called the Sun,’ and other such hits are translated into English. Lyricstranslate.com has not less than nine translations of the former and twenty-two English versions of the latter song. It is thus perfectly easy for you to enjoy them—along with their meaning—without my assistance. Just be careful not to be misled by some clever interpreters who attempt to portray Tsoi as ‘a sharp critic of Soviet society’ or even as ‘a hidden revolutionary.’

What is there poetical about being in revolt? You might as well say that it is poetical to be sea-sick. Being sick is a revolt. Both being sick and being rebellious may be the wholesome thing on certain desperate occasions; but I'm hanged if I can see why they are poetical. Revolt in the abstract is—revolting. It's mere vomiting

—to quote from G. K. Chesterton once again. Something makes me believe that Victor Tsoi would immediately recognise the truth behind this jocular passage from The Man Who Was Thursday. (Do you agree with the English ‘prince of paradox’ on this occasion?)

For now, I would prefer to go my own way and draw your attention to a lesser-known song written by the musician when he was twenty-one. (I wish I could create something as profound as this song at my actual age. It seems that there is no way I can do that, this being one of the few things that make me very sad.) Here comes the ‘General.’

[Verse 1]

Where are you now and who are you with,

Who wants to be the judge,

Who remembers all of the names?

We're running out of themes,

Don't disturb our peace,

This night is way too dark.

[Refrain]

Where is your uniform, general,

Your medals, your back like a tight string?

You did hear the end call—

It's just that the rain was hitting against your roof, general.

[Verse 2]

Everyone wants time, just to leave,

No one will leave forever.

Flag-bearers one by one

And each one of them knows how bitter the fruit tastes.

[Refrain]

[Verse 3]

You want to sleep, but here is the tea

And the light of hundreds of candles is glowing.

Maybe tomorrow morning there will be sun

And that one key in a bundle of keys?

[Refrain]

Unfortunately, I have no positive knowledge of what this song really is about. I have never met Victor Tsoi in person, neither can I summon his spirit with an Ouija board and ask him for explanations. (The strange coincidence is that both science and Russian Orthodox Christianity reject the latter method as absurd. Could you explain why it is so?) My interpretation of the song that follows relies on my intuitions that are certainly tainted with my personal experience of knowing someone who resembles or, rather, used to resemble its main character. The man in question died two years ago. I thought of withholding this piece of personal information, but decided not to, because it can be helpful for the understanding of the song’s subject.