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  CARDINAL POINTS: THE CURRENT ISSUE
Alexander Anichkin
THREE  STREETS  OF  MYSTERIOUS  PASSION.  BELLA  AKHMADULINA
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Alexander Anichkin
Alexander Anichkin

'Along this street of mine' ("По улице моей", from the opening words) is one of the beloved poems by one of beloved Russian poets, Bella Akhmadulina. By chance I noticed an annoying omission in the English translation of the poem which sent me on a quest to restore the missing piece - and also to see how it changes the meaning of Akhmadulina's poem.

The poem is well-known to all poetry lovers in its full version and, perhaps, to every living speaker of Russian in its shortened song version. To the generation of the 60s, the so-called "Shestidesyatniki," it was so important that the writer Vassily Aksyonov took two haunting words from the poem as the title of his recently published posthumous memoir about the passions of that exciting decade. Aksyonov remembers it in a different version though, one that had not been published before, I think.

It happened thus that we have three variations on the theme of losing friends, loneliness and betrayal.

The non-rhyming English translation of the poem appears in the anthology of Post-War Russian Poetry (compiled by Daniel Weissbort), but neither in its full version, nor in the clipped song version. Two quatrains are missing in the book and three were left out of the song. The anthology came out in 1974, but The Irony of Fate, or Enjoy Your Bath ("Ирония судьбы, или с лёгким паром"), the phenomenally popular Soviet romantic comedy, was broadcasted on TV on the New Year's Eve of 1975/76. The Polish actress Barbara Brylska and, off-screen, Alla Pugacheva, sing the poem in the film.

The dates suggest that it's hardly possible that the song version influenced the book. I have asked both Daniel Weissbort and the translator Elaine Feinstein about this, but neither remembers now how it happened. It may have been a case of censorship, as Daniel Weissbort suspects. Or even self-censorship by Akhmadulina herself.

What exactly happened we may not discover. But what we have as a result is a curious case study of how poetry works. Each of the three versions is a complete and wonderful poem, but each with a different thrust and scope.



This Street of Mine 1: A Lyrical Piece


  For how many years along this street of mine have I
overheard those footsteps - of my friends leaving.
And the darkness outside my window draws pleasure
in witnessing every sluggish departure.


[ missing quatrain 1]
[ missing quatrain 2]

That is your stern character, Solitude, as
you flash an iron compass; how coldly
now do you close your circles round me
without attending to my useless protest.


[quatrain not in the song version]
Summon me, then, with some reward, since I
have become your creature, and console myself
with your favours; let me rest against you
and wash myself in the pale blue of your frost.

In your forest, on my toes, allow me to
reach the slow peak of one strained gesture in
your foliage, and raise the leaves to my face
so I may feel - to be desolate is a blessing.

Give me the quiet of your libraries,
severe melodies in concert halls;
wise power - that is the way we forget
those who are dead and those not yet alive.

So I shall learn wisdom and sadness together,
and things will yield their hidden meanings up;
even Nature leaning on my shoulder
may reveal her childish secrets to me.

But out of all the darkness, tears, and the
forgetting of what is lost for ever,
the fine features of my friends will
appear briefly to me, before dissolving.



                                                 From 'Post-War Russian Poetry',
                                                 compiled by Daniel Weissbort,
                                                 translated by Elaine Feinstein



Without the two missing stanzas in translated version and the three left out in the song version the poem reads as a lament of someone who lost the pure warmth of young friendships. Just that, no more wasteful outings, chats about nothing, musical get-togethers or sing-alongs to scratchy records. It is all gone and is replaced by an adult focused, purposeful and cold life where old friends have no place.

"Degas' girls"

They slowly fade away. I am now with someone very solid. That person's metallic compass of a well-structured life draws the circle where only pure knowledge, efficiency, clear motives and quiet concentration is permitted. Messy chaos of nature seems childish and should be banished.

What a brave new world! And how sorrowful the dear features of old friends look when they reappear occasionally. I have to strain to feel - and when the feeling does come back, it is a blessing. I am content, I am proud, I march on - but they won't let me go, my friends of old, even though some of them are already dead. They come back and remind me of what I was and reproach me for what I have become. I feel a pang of remorse, but brush it off - and they disappear, dissolve.

This is how the poem reads. The fault is mine, it's me who left my friends for something I don't even really like, something I don't really want, but that is how it must be.

It may well be that the poet herself wanted the poem to be like that and it is a valid choice.

This Street of Mine 2: Social and Political Importance

  For how many years along this street of mine have I
overheard those footsteps - of my friends leaving.
And the darkness outside my window draws pleasure
in witnessing every sluggish departure.

My friends do not look after their affairs,
nor music, neither songs are present in their homes,
there's just a flock of usual Degas' girls
with light-blue feathers, checking hues.

What can I do, what can I do, don't let your fears
wake up you, helpless, in the night.
That passion for betrayal, so mysterious,
my friends, it's clouding your sight.

That is your stern character, Solitude, as
you flash an iron compass; how coldly
now do you close your circles round me
without attending to my useless protest.

Summon me, then, with some reward, since I
have become your creature, and console myself
with your favours; let me rest against you
and wash myself in the pale blue of your frost.

In your forest, on my toes, allow me to
reach the slow peak of one strained gesture in
your foliage, and raise the leaves to my face
so I may feel - to be desolate is a blessing.

Give me the quiet of your libraries,
severe melodies in concert halls;
wise power - that is the way we forget
those who are dead and those not yet alive.

So I shall learn wisdom and sadness together,
and things will yield their hidden meanings up;
even Nature leaning on my shoulder
may reveal her childish secrets to me.

But out of all the darkness, tears, and the
forgetting of what is lost for ever,
the fine features of my friends will
appear briefly to me, before dissolving.


                                                 Translated by Elaine Feinstein
                                                 with the missing quatrains
                                                 translated by Alexander Anichkin


Bella Akhmadulina
Bella  Akhmadulina

With the two quatrains restored, the poem undergoes a complete turnaround. Now it's not my fault, but theirs. I hold my course. I stay faithful to myself. It's my friends, fearful and helpless, who waver - and betray me. It's them who have that 'mysterious passion for betrayal' - and leave me in the company of Loneliness.

There is no implied companion in this version. The cold compass draws the circle not to let others from the 'normal' world to come close to me. What's happening is I am being excluded, not me who excludes others. It's me who is useless, outcast and suspect. I keep the warmth and honesty of the old days, they are the ones who have neither music, nor songs in their homes. Only the faded Degas prints stay as a bitter reminder of the days gone by. You have betrayed me. You have betrayed yourself, the poem now says. Your eyes are clouded by that betrayal. Clouded so much, that you can no longer see clearly around yourself.

With the two stanzas restored we have a powerful hymn to individual steadfastness in the face of rejection by the philistine society, a society where betrayal is encouraged and nurtured. And we have a puzzled reproach for those who are driven by - or given in to 'that mysterious passion for betrayal'.

Here, clearly, already is a case for censorship - or self-censorship.

Akhmadulina today is one the most venerated of the living poets1, respected and decorated with medals and prizes. The 1960s Akhmadulina was one of the uncompromising voices of the young generation, the "Shestidesyatniki." 'Along this street of mine' was printed in the magazine 'Yunost' (Youth), a safe haven for young writers protected and nurtured by two successive editors, Valentin Katayev and Boris Polevoi, the established Soviet writers of an older generation. However Akhmadulina's work in general wasn't widely published at the time, even though her public readings drew enthusiastic crowds. In the late 70s she was a participant in the first non-censored Soviet literary almanac, The Metropol, the twelve original copies of which were put together in the studio of her husband, the artist Boris Messerer. The Metropol was taken out of the Soviet Union and published in the West. The scandal was huge.


This Street of Mine 3: a Perfect Rhyme, Authority and Fear

  Ну, вот и всё, да не разбудит власть
Вас, беззащитных, среди мрачной ночи;
К предательству таинственная страсть,
Друзья мои, туманит ваши очи.


Well, this is it, may you escape Authority
And not be woken, helpless, in the night;
The passion for betrayal, it's a mystery,
My friends, it's clouding your sight.



                                                 as quoted by Vassily Aksyonov in 'Mysterious Passion'
                                                 translated by Alexander Anichkin



Strakh (fear) and Strast' (passion) is an unexpectedly powerful rhyming pair, even though the words are not quite of the same phonetic pattern.

But it appears that 'fear' (страх) in the first line may have been hiding the truly rhyming word - 'authority' (власть).

Vassily Aksyonov's 2009 posthumous fictionalized memoir, the novel "Таинственная страсть" ('The Mysterious Passion') was published. Aksyonov, one of the most popular writers of the 60s generation, writes about his friends, their changing fortunes and their loves. The title is taken from the missing stanza.

Akhmadulina (Nella Akhkho in the book) was reading poetry in the Tchaikovsky Hall in Moscow. She was greeted with ovation. 'And suddenly I felt like a blast of hot air,' says Aksyonov in the book, 'I realised that she read one stanza not in the same version as it was printed in 'Yunost'. He then says that Akhmadulina put the stanza as the last in the poem, giving it additional stress.

To Aksyonov this was very important. He says he felt as though the ghost of betrayal was following Akhmadulina - and all of them - all the time. So, it is the Authority, the powers underlying it, or the fear of Authority, that generates the mysterious passion (страсть) for betrayal of people under it. Generates so strongly that they lose the clarity of their vision. For the free-spirited dissident like Aksyonov it explained what was wrong in the society around him and what was consuming him and his friends. I think that is why he took Akhmadulina's words for the title of his novel.

With 'vlast' in the stanza, the poem acquires a sharp political edge without losing the wider, philosophical meaning. It is the Authority that is driving you, my friends, to betrayal. But what is this 'mysterious passion'? You can't withstand the pressure? Are you afraid? Or do you genuinely want to betray because this is how the system brought you up? Or, in an even more subtle way, how is it that betrayal lives in us as a primitive passion?

I have checked dozens of current online collections of Akhmadulina's poetry, but 'vlast' is nowhere to be found. It could be that Aksyonov's memory played a trick on him, but it seems unlikely. Aksyonov's friend, the poet Robert Rozhdestvensky (Ehr in the book) argues: 'You know her, she reads one version today, another tomorrow. There were no betrayals - and none are coming. Old times will not return, trust me.' Aksyonov is not so sure.

The Russian poets of the 60s were looking for new rhymes. Rhymes were important, as they revealed new meaning of words. Not just words - new meanings of things around them and of their own lives. While many in the West lazily switched to non-rhyming vers libre, Russians were still on the quest for the perfect rhyme.

Akhmadulina found one: Authority - Fear - Passion. Власть - Страх - Страсть.

_____________________________

1 The essay was published before Bella Akhmadulina's death (November 29th, 2010).



Post-War Russian Poetry. Edited by Daniel Weissbort, Penguin, 1974, ISBN 0 14 042 183 1.
“Таинственная страсть” ('Mysterious Passion'), Василий Аксёнов, М., “Семь дней”, ISBN 978 5 88149 375 2.
“Юность” – the journal's web-site: www.unost.org.
Bella Akhmadulina's photo: 2005, пресс-служба президента России.
Vassily Aksyonov's photo: Inge Morath (Arthur Miller, Inge Morath, In Russia, Viking Press, 1969).



© Copyright  Alexander Anichkin
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