Vysotsky Vladimir's catchphrases

2024 Author: Leah Sherlock | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 05:25

2018 marks thirty-eight years since the death of Vysotsky. Over the years, a lot has happened in the country, and there is no longer the country in which the poet lived and worked. But there were people who remember him, read his poems, sing his songs and for the first time learn through Vysotsky's catchphrases about his work. It still remains a mystery: how did Vysotsky succeed in the most diverse characters in his songs, speaking in accordance with the social stratum to which they belonged. Instantly reincarnating, he amazingly conveyed both grotesque situations and deeply tragic fates of people. Of course, he perfectly mastered the Stanislavsky system, but such an instant transformation from one image to another can only happen in one case: when the artist is truly brilliant.

How it all started

Every year, starting from July 25, 1980, Vladimir Vysotsky is remembered throughout the CIS. On that day, not only did the poet die - the wholeera. The brilliant artist died twice: the first time - in Bukhara, where he was on tour, the second time - in pre-Olympic Moscow, which by that moment had been carefully "licked" from everyone who could in any way cast a shadow on the bright image of the "communist Raya". Death, apparently paying tribute to Vysotsky's talent, held a dress rehearsal for his departure before finally tearing him out of life.

Rereading the phrases of Vladimir Vysotsky, you first of all pay attention to how often he returned to the theme of death. We can say that the premonition of death permeates his work like a red thread.

I'll die someday - we always die sometime, -

How to guess so, so as not to do it yourself - to get a knife in the back:

The slain are spared, buried and pampered with paradise, -

I won't say about the living, but we protect the dead.

My cheekbones with annoyance reduces:

I think it's a year, What is where I am - there life goes on, And where there is no me, it goes.

Well, that's it! Completed deep sleep!

Nobody and nothing is allowed!

I'm leaving, separate, lonely

Across the airfield from which they take off!

And, smiling, they broke my wings, My wheezing sometimes looked like a howl, And I was dumb from pain and powerlessness

And only whispered: "Thank you for being alive."

…corridors end in a wall and tunnels lead to light…

- What would you give your loved one if you were omnipotent?! - One morelife!!!

Hops fly off me at the number 37 at the moment.

Here and now - how cold it blew:

Pushkin guessed a duel for this figure

And Mayakovsky lay down with his temple on the muzzle.

Let's dwell on the number 37! Tricky God

- He posed the question point-blank: either - or!

Both Byron and Rimbaud fell on this line, And the current ones somehow slipped through.

When I drink and play, Where I will end, on what - no one can guess.

But only one thing I guess I know

- I won't want to die.

And burst my patience vein

- And with death I switched to you, She circled around me for a long time, I was only afraid of hoarseness.

So everything that is prophesied comes true!

The train leaves for heaven - happy journey!

Ah, how we want, how we all want

Don't die, namely sleep…

…And I didn’t have time to live, I didn’t have time to finish singing.

I'll water the horses, I'll finish the verse, -

I'll stand on the edge for a moment…

The word "peace" just smelled like a dead person to me, I flatly denied the concept of "peace".

If the day passed evenly, calmly, So there was no day - I counted.

My friends went through the sieve:

They all got Lethe or Prana, Natural death - nobody, Everything is unnatural and early…

I live without expecting a miracle, But the veins swell with shame, - Ievery time I want out of here

Run away somewhere.

Stubbornly I strive to the bottom, Breath is torn, pressing on the ears.

Why am I going deep?

What was wrong with me on dry land?

Who ended his life tragically is a true poet!

I'm alone, everything is drowning in hypocrisy:

Life to live - not a field to go.

In Marina Vladi's book "Vladimir. Interrupted flight" there is a mention of little Volodya's first encounter with death:

…one day you and the guys find an armory and detonate grenade fuses. Three boys remain blind and disfigured for the rest of their lives. By sheer luck, you're the only one left unscathed.

There are no accidents: fate had its own plans for this boy…

The circumstances of the poet's death have been said, and a lot more will be said, but it doesn't matter, probably, how he died - it's important how he lived.

The border between "before" and "after"

"On the verge" - this is how the artist's life style can be described, and as confirmation of this - the phrases of Vysotsky's songs, his roles, his love story …

This meeting in the theater was accidental for Marina Vlady - Vladimir Vysotsky went to her for several years: from the minute he saw Marina in the famous "Sorceress".

- Finally I met you. Those first words you spoke…

She lived under the sun, Where there are no blue stars, Where the high-flying swans can do…

…But he overtook her there too, And a single moment is happy, Yes, only there was that bright moment

Their swan song.

And from that moment on, their whole life was divided into "before" and "after"…

About our meeting, what can I say!

- I was waiting for her, like waiting for natural disasters, - But you and I immediately began to live, Without fear of ill effects.

Weekdays and holidays

At the time of the meeting, each of them had relationships with other people, children from previous marriages and the experience that people usually do not seek to trust like this, right after the first meetings, but this is not about Vysotsky. An incredible instinct told him that this woman should be only with him, and Vysotsky's famous phrases about love confirm this.

In my soul, all the goals are without a road, Dig into it and you will find

Only two half-phrases, half-dialogues, And the rest is France, Paris…

Beautiful people are loved more often and diligently, Merry people are loved less, but faster.

And the silent ones are loved, only less often, But if they love, then stronger.

…And let the evening light candles for me, And your image is wrapped in smoke, But I don't want to know that time heals

That everything goes with him…

I won't get rid of peace anymore:

After all, everything that was in my heart for the year ahead, Unknowingly, she took with her

- First to the port, and then to the plane.

I will lay the fields for lovers

Let them sing in their dreams and in reality!

I breathe, which means I love, I love, and therefore - I live!

A woman you didn't fight for, you dare not call dear.

If you didn't love, then you didn't live and didn't breathe!

…everyone returns except best friends

Except for the most beloved and devoted women, Everyone is returning, except those who are needed more…

In this world, I value only loy alty. Without it, you are nobody and you have nobody. In life, this is the only currency that will never depreciate.

This is stupid - who am I?

There's no reason to wait for me, You need another and peace, And with me - restless, sleepless.

Vysotsky was already then considered an "odious personality" and, as a result, was "not allowed to travel abroad". His rhythm of life was incredibly crazy: four hours left for 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 find out about this side of Vysotsky's life immediately, but six months later, when he "broke". It was a shock to her…

Poets walk with their heels on the blade of a knife and cut their bare souls into blood.

After some time, she fully realized that in Russia to begirlfriend, and even more so the wife of a genius - a heavy cross. Remembering this period of their life together, Marina will write:

As soon as you disappear, whether I'm in Moscow or abroad, the hunt begins, I "take the trail." If you have not left the city, I find you in a few hours. I know all the paths that lead to you. Friends help me because they know that 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 Vysotsky's friends and Marina find him anywhere in the country, as well as abroad, if necessary.

She was that thin thread that connected us with you both in sorrow and in joy, until the very last conversation. Her face, swollen with 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 - more topics at night.

I grab the dial of my phone, Dialing eternal 07…

And yet, what united these two was stronger than what opposed them: spiritual closeness, multiplied by the strongest emotional attraction. One of the best phrases of Vysotsky will be a piercing appeal to the Almighty, dedicated to Marina Vladi:

…I'm less than half a century old, forty plus, I'm alive, I've been keeping you and the Lord for twelve years.

I have something to sing, standing before the Almighty, I have something to justify myself to Him.

The All-Seeing Eye

It seems that there is no topic that Vladimir Vysotsky would not touch on in his poems. A paradoxical situation developed 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. Silencing him, let alone trying to make him a "pocket" poet, was unrealistic. 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: not only are you forbidden to sing, but they blame you for the disrupted concert. Your censored movie songs are still "not allowed" just before the premiere, and the picture becomes mutilated.

Texts relentlessly sent to Glavlit are invariably sent back with exaggeratedly polite regrets. (M. Vlady "Vladimir. Interrupted flight")

Such a 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 titles will change anything. In one phrase, Vysotsky conveyed the principle of the state machine:

They do everything so that I do not exist as a person. It just doesn't exist - that's all.

"The fight against the cotton wall" called Vysotsky daily exhaustingcontrol.

I was the soul of bad society, And I can tell you:

My last name-first name-middle name

The KGB knew very well.

We are vigilant - we will not spill secrets, They are in safe, sinewy hands.

Besides, we do not know these secrets

- We trust secrets to smart people, And we, God willing, are like fools.

Left demons, right demons, No! Pour me another one!

These are from bunks, and those from chairs:

You won't know how mean.

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 of live originals.

It was time - I rushed to the front row, And it's all from a misunderstanding, - But for some time I sit back:

There, in front, like a machine gun in the back

- A heavy look, an unkind breath.

Maybe the back is not so pretty, But - much broader horizons, More and takeoff, and perspective, And more - reliability and visibility.

We were raised to despise theft

And more - to the use of alcohol, In indifference to foreign kinship, In worship of the omnipotence of control.

We are always replaced by others so that we do not interfere with lies.

…when people hurt you over and over, think of them like sandpaper. They may touch you and hurt you a little, but in the endin the end you will be polished to perfection, and they will be of no use.

Never judge a dog or a person at first sight. Because a simple mongrel… can have the kindest soul, and a good-looking person… can turn out to be a rare bastard…

Your soul aspires upward, you will be born again with a dream!

But if you lived like a pig, you will remain a pig!

The candles are melting

On the old parquet, And dripping onto the shoulders

Silver with epaulette.

Wandering in agony

Golden Wine…

All the past is gone, - No matter what comes.

Fate to me - to the last line, to the cross

Argue until hoarse (and after it - dumbness), Convince and prove with foam at the mouth, What - not that's all, not the same and not the same!

And although the shootings did not mow us down, we lived without daring to raise our eyes, - we, too, are the children of the terrible years of Russia, timelessness poured vodka into us.

I'm fed up to my chin

- I even got tired of the songs, - Go to the bottom like a submarine

So that they could not find direction!

Many times in the poems and songs of Vysotsky the theme of the Soul, deprived of the opportunity to open up, limited by the framework of everyday life, will come through. 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. The sharp, biting phrases of Vysotsky became, one might say,the moral code of an entire generation:

I don't like being halfway

Or when the conversation was interrupted.

I don't like being shot in the back

I'm also against point blank shots.

I hate version gossip

Worms of doubt, honor the needle, Or when it's against the grain all the time, Or when iron on glass.

I don't like the confidence of being fed, Better let the brakes fail!

It annoys me that the word "honor" is forgotten

And what's the honor of slander behind the eyes.

When I see broken wings, There is no pity in me and for a reason -

I don't like violence and powerlessness, That's just a pity for the crucified Christ.

I don't like myself when I'm scared

It annoys me when innocents are beaten, I don't like it when they climb into my soul, Especially when they spit on her!

Why should I be the soul of society, When there is no soul in it at all!

The Edge of Creativity

And yet he was! It was impossible to get tickets for Vysotsky's concerts and performances with his participation: people queued up in the evening, stood all night - and all this in order to go beyond the boundaries established by the system along with the actors of Taganka.

The acting talent of Vladimir Vysotsky is a special topic. We can say that as an actor he took place in spite of: his mother did not understand him, and Yu. Lyubimov spoke about his father’s attitude in one of the interviews, who,having tried to get support for the compulsory treatment of Vysotsky, he received the answer of Vysotsky Sr. "I have nothing to do with this anti-Soviet…". Parents did not approve of their son's hobbies either in 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 a provincial drama club, which will allow him many years later to say 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. Performances with his participation: "The Life of Galileo", "Ten Days That Shook the World", "Pugachev", "Hamlet" - make the viewer look at himself differently, reconsider his life, literally transforming the personality of everyone who came into contact with Vysotsky's work. Playing in the theater required a huge strain of both spiritual and physical strength. Vysotsky worked with full dedication, at the limit of his capabilities, as if he was afraid of not being able to complete everything that he had planned. He was really afraid of not being in time: as a child, he was diagnosed with death from a sudden heart attack was real. Vysotsky knew about it and lived with it.

Look - here he comes without insurance.

Slightly to the right slope - will fall, disappear!

Slightly to the left of the slope - still can not be saved…

Buthe must really need to pass!

How poems are born

For Vysotsky it was an urgent need to devote several hours a day to poetry. And again, let's turn to the memoirs of M. Vladi:

… For hours you remain sitting staring at a white wall. You can't stand a drawing, a painting, not even a shadow on the wall in front of you.

…You read poetry to me - and this is one of the most complete minutes of our life, complicity, deep unity. This is your highest gift to me. When I ask where it comes from, what causes you an urgent need to write words on paper in a precise order, sometimes without a single correction, you cannot answer. It can be seen that you yourself are not particularly clear:

"So 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 quickly describe everything that flickers in your imagination - color pictures with noises, smells and many characters whose character and appearance you manage to convey in a few words. We call it "waking dreams". Usually they precede a large poem, which almost always refers to Russia.

Vysotsky's poems are the highest concentration of thoughts, emotions, events. Here everyone could find something about themselves: Vysotsky's phrases convey the mood, originality, speech features, lifestyle, relationships, 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 notto believe that songs and poems on a military theme were written by a person who had never fought. The criminals, on the other hand, believed that Vysotsky, if not one of them, then certainly a prisoner.

We don't need plots and intrigues, -

We know about everything, about everything you give.

I, for example, have the best book in the world

I think our criminal code.

Well, what to talk about with you!

Anyway, you will flog the nonsense.

I'd better go to the guys to drink, The guys have better thoughts.

The guys have a serious conversation -

For example, about who drinks more.

The guys have a broad outlook -

From the stall to our groceries.

Oh, where was I yesterday - I can't find it, for the life of me, Just remember that the walls are with wallpaper.

I remember Klavka had a friend with her, Kissed in the kitchen with both of them.

Don't you see that Seryozha keeps nodding, -

He thinks, understands everything!

And what is silent is from excitement, From awareness and enlightenment.

It's nice that we are respected here:

Look - they give a lift, look - they plant!

Wake up in the morning not a rooster, crowing, -

The sergeant will lift - like people!

We are almost escorted with music, how to oversleep.

I've got a ruble - let's get drunk!

Our penetration of the planet is especially pleasant in the distance: there are inscriptions in Russian in a public Parisian toilet.

False note of general enthusiasm

In 1977, Vladimir Vysotsky wrote a song,which could be called "A hymn to gullibility and thoughtless existence":

Tender Truth in beautiful clothes went, Dressed up for the orphans, the blessed, the crippled.

Rough Lie lured this Truth to itself, -

Like, stay with me for the night.

And the gullible Truth fell asleep peacefully, Drooling and smiling in my sleep.

Cunning Lie pulled the blanket over herself, I got stuck into the Truth and was completely satisfied.

And got up and cut her face like a bulldog, - A woman is like a woman, and why please her?

There is no difference between True and False, If, of course, both of them are undressed.

Deftly wove golden ribbons out of braids

And grabbed clothes, trying on by eye, I took the money, and the watch, and more documents, Spitted, cursed dirty and leaned out.

Only in the morning I discovered the Truth was missing

And wondered, looking at herself businesslike, - Someone already got black soot somewhere, Smeared the pure Truth, but nothing.

Really laughed when stones were thrown at her:

- Lies are everything, and Lies are my clothes!..

Two blessed cripples wrote the protocol

And they called her bad names.

A bitch scolded her, and worse than a bitch, Smeared with clay, lowered the yard dog:

- No spirit! One hundred and first kilometer

Evict, deport in twenty-four hours.

That protocol consisted of an offensive tirade, (By the way, they hung Pravdaother people's business):

Say, some scum is called Truth, Well, she herself, all as is, drank herself naked.

Naked Truth swore, swore and sobbed, I was sick for a long time, wandered, needed money.

Dirty Lies stole a thoroughbred horse

And rode away on long and thin legs.

However, it's easy to get along with deliberate lies, The truth pricked my eyes and got drunk with it.

Wandering now, incorruptible, off-road, Because of her nudity, avoiding people.

Some eccentric is still fighting for the Truth, -

True, in his speeches - the truth for a penny:

The Pure Truth will eventually prevail, If it does the same as outright Falsehood.

Often spilling one hundred and seventy grams per brother, You don't even know where you'll end up for the night.

They can undress - it's true guys!

Look, your pants are wearing insidious Lies.

Look, the insidious Lie is looking at your watch.

Look, and your horse is ruled by an insidious Lie.

As a brilliant poet and actor, Vysotsky acutely felt falsehood, no matter how it was disguised. Thanks to his inimitable hoarse voice, it was no longer possible to simply go with the flow under the lulling victorious reports of labor successes in all spheres of the national economy.

We live in a world where a smile no longer means a good attitude towards you.

Where kisses don't mean feelings at all.

Where confessions don't mean love.

Where everyone is lonely and no onetrying to change it.

Where words lose all meaning because they carry lies.

How not to miss a good face, How do honest people tell me for sure?

Everyone learned how to wear masks, So as not to break your face on the stones.

I still penetrated the secret of the masks, I'm sure my analysis is accurate

What masks of indifference in others -

Protection against spitting and slapping.

We learn a lot from books, And the truths are transmitted orally:

"There are no prophets in their own country."

But in other fatherlands - not a lot.

I never believed in mirages, The suitcase did not get along in the coming paradise -

Teachers devoured by a sea of lies

And spat out near Magadan.

Bridges burned down, fords deepened, And closely - we see only skulls, And blocked exits and entrances, And there is only one way - where the crowd is.

Raise your hands, put them in the bins

Bulletins without even reading -

Die of boredom! Vote

Only, mind you, don't add me:

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 violent mob, Why do hammers and sickles attract you so much?

Maybe you are smoked and pinned?!

Listening to half-mad speakers:

"Expropriation of expropriators…"

I see portraits above the steam puffs -

Mao, Dzerzhinskyand Che Guevara.

…Don't look at me with clenched lips, -

If the word flies out, then it's evil.

I would run away from here in slippers to the taiga, -

I'll dig somewhere - and 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 aspects of life, but his work served to make the world sparkle with bright colors.

Not true, above us is not an abyss, not darkness, -

Catalogue of rewards and retributions.

We admire the night zodiac, To the eternal tango of the constellations.

Look, heads thrown back, Into silence, mystery and eternity.

There are traces of destinies and our instant age

Marked as invisible milestones, What can keep and protect us.

Purity, simplicity we take from the ancients…

Sagas, dragging tales from the past…

Because good is good -

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 transfer from the last century to the present century.