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Symphony No. 13 "Babi Yar"

Dmitri Shostakovich (1906-1975) A slice of life in Stalinist Russia even included himself in those needing to
be purged of it. He personally sanctioned
Symphony No. 13 in B Minor, Op. 113 “Babi Yar” (1962) Yevgeny Yevtushenko was only twenty- publication of One Day in the Life in
eight years old when, on 19 September November 1962. Yet while Solzhenitsyn was
1 I. Babi Yar: Adagio 15. 18 1961, his poem ‘Babiy Yar’ was published praised, Valeriy Kosolapov, the editor who
2 II. Humour: Allegretto 7. 30 in the Soviet literary journal Literaturnaya approved ‘Babiy Yar’ for publication, was
3 III. In the Store: Adagio 11. 45 gazeta. Though it was not the first, or sacked, and Yevtushenko himself received
4 IV. Fears: Largo 11. 07 even the most important, literary marker vitriolic letters from the public. Clearly he
5 V. A Career: Allegretto 12. 30 of Nikita Khrushchev’s ‘Thaw’, the poem had touched a raw nerve: for he exposed
ignited controversy in a way that Aleksandr the scourge of Soviet antisemitism,
Total playing time: 58. 13 Solzhenitsyn’s One Day in the Life of Ivan sanctioned from the very top. Jews
Denisovich (published a year later) did may no longer have been referred to as
not, even though Solzhenitsyn’s account ‘rootless cosmopolitans’ and arrested or
Oleg Tsibulko, bass was an overt indictment of Stalin’s Gulags, murdered, as they were in Stalin’s post-war
while Yevtushenko’s poem had nothing purges. But social prejudice against them
Popov Academy of Choral Arts Choir to do with Stalinism. To understand why remained a fact of Soviet life nonetheless.
Alexei Petrov, artistic director Yevtushenko was attacked so viscerally for
this poem, we need to appreciate both The subject of Yevtushenko’s poem was
Kozhevnikov Choir what Khrushchev was trying to achieve, the site of a Nazi atrocity. Babiy Yar was
Nikolai Azarov, artistic director but also to understand the limits of his a ravine outside Kiev; here, in September
drive for reform. Since his ‘secret speech’ 1941, the Jewish population of the entire
Russian National Orchestra at the Twentieth Party Congress in 1956, city and its environs was rounded up and
Khrushchev had attacked Stalin personally murdered. Over the remaining period of
Kirill Karabits, conductor and Stalinism in general as an evil that had Nazi occupation the ravine was repeatedly
to be rooted out of the Soviet psyche; he used as a mass grave for communists,

partisans, Roma and other Nazi targets; though, pulls no moral punches. It vividly decided to set more of Yevtushenko’s Khrushchev visited a modern art exhibition
the precise number of victims (estimated captures Yevtushenko’s horror on visiting poems and shape them into his Thirteenth in the Manezh building near the Kremlin
at over 100,000) could never be identified the scene of these outrages: the lines ‘And Symphony. Inspired by his conversations on 1 December 1962 and took an instant
owing to attempts to dispose of the I myself am one long soundless scream/ with Shostakovich, Yevtushenko wrote and dislike to what he saw there. Much as
remains, and Yad Vashem has been able Above the thousand thousands buried published ‘Fears’ — describing the years Stalin’s experience of Shostakovich’s opera
to record the names of just 3,000 Jewish here/I am every old man here shot dead/I of Stalin’s terror — which was published ‘Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk’ had kick-
souls — far fewer than 10% of the total am every child here shot dead/Nothing on the same day as his poem ‘Stalin’s started a campaign against ‘formalism’
number of Jews killed there. Yevtushenko in me will ever forget this’ are among Heirs’, printed in the ultra-orthodox Party and ‘anti-Soviet’ art in 1936, Khrushchev’s
visited the site in 1961 and was dismayed to the most powerful he ever penned. Yet paper Pravda in October 1962. As the reaction to the artistic fruits of his ‘Thaw’
find no memorial; in fact, it was not until it was these very lines which, after the Shostakovich scholar Laurel Fay has noted, was similarly visceral, if less murderous.
after the collapse of Soviet power in 1991 symphony’s premiere in 1962, Yevtushenko the timing of Shostakovich’s symphony Irritated by what he perceived as excesses
that a permanent memorial was installed was forced to change. The new verse ran — set for a premiere in late December in the visual arts, he summoned artists,
there. as follows: ‘I think about Russia’s heroic 1962 — therefore seemed auspicious. writers and composers to the Kremlin
feats /In blocking fascism’s path/To the Though attracting vitriol the previous year for a general dressing-down, just days
Yevtushenko was never a Soviet tiniest dewdrop/Her whole essence and for ‘Babiy Yar’, if anything, Yevtushenko’s before the symphony’s premiere; both
‘dissident’ in the true sense; in fact, he fate is dear to me.’ Thus did Khrushchev’s contribution to Khrushchev’s mission for Yevtushenko and Shostakovich attended.
attracted criticism from all sides for administration force Yevtushenko to Soviet society to move ‘away from Stalin, Khrushchev was also personally angered
either being insufficiently respectful to deface his poem, replacing its hardest- back to Lenin’ was increasing his fame and by Yevtushenko’s exposure of antisemitism;
Soviet power, or for being too loyal to it. hitting lines with doggerel. success. Shostakovich, for his part, was probably unbeknown to Yevtushenko, after
Some of the awkwardness, both in his consciously joining hands with the younger the war, in his role as Chair of the Central
precarious ethical positioning and in his Shostakovich read Yevtushenko’s poem generation and re-discovering the moral Committee of the Ukrainian Communist
poems themselves, can be discerned in and set it to music soon afterwards, voice he was so afraid of losing. But — not Party, he had personally refused to
another poem set by Shostakovich in intending ‘Babiy Yar’ to be a stand-alone for the first time in Shostakovich’s career — sanction a memorial at Babiy Yar.
this symphony: the essentially pro-Soviet choral work. But after they had spoken on the ideological ground shifted dramatically Shostakovich, who loathed antisemitism
(though anti-Stalinist) ‘Fears’. ‘Babiy Yar’, the phone and met in person, Shostakovich between composition and performance. and refused to indulge in denials that it

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was a problem in Soviet society, heard the sombre opening, Shostakovich uses
in Yevtushenko’s poem a call to arms: a different musical registers to represent
new ethics for their new, supposedly de- other voices; in the violent depiction of
Stalinized, era. But that was a step too far the pogrom, for example, even though
for Khrushchev. the interlocutor is a small boy, the music
speaks in the thuggish tones of the
Yet although pressure was brought to bear attackers, briefly referencing the well-
on key figures involved in the premiere known Russian folk song ‘Akh moi seni’ in
— Shostakovich lost his original choice the brass, but aggressively, as though to
of conductor, bass soloist and even his show how the apparent innocent voice
second choice soloist — Shostakovich of national culture can become violent
himself was not attacked. Joining the and corrupted when turned against those
Party in 1960 had given him protection deemed unwelcome. In the Anne Frank
from further persecution, and for the verses, though, Shostakovich speaks
first time in his career, he decided to directly through her assumed voice,
exploit his protected status with a work childlike and lyrical. The searing lines
he knew would be controversial. Despite closing the poem call forth some of the
attempts to intimidate the conductor Kirill most harrowing music Shostakovich ever
Kondrashin, the premiere went ahead and wrote, recalling the tragic epic of Lady
both composer and poet were given a Macbeth’s final scene with a desperately
standing ovation. urgent call to moral awakening.

The first movement, ‘Babi Yar’, towers The second movement, setting the poem
over the rest of the symphony by virtue of ‘Humour’, opens with a rumbustious
its sheer moral and musical force. After energy, but is soon edged with menace.
Oleg Tsibulko
© Kristina Kalinina 7
As Shostakovich reached the lines about sacred reverence and compassion; even takes the form of a popular song, this the whole poem, but found a way to
‘humour’ escaping execution, he quotes their ‘clanking of cans’ (represented by time that of the civil-war era revolutionary distance himself from the parts he felt less
boldly from his song ‘MacPherson Before castanets and woodblock) is invested with song, in particular ‘Smelo, tovarishchi, attuned to.
His Execution’ from his earlier work Six dignity. ‘Fears’ — the poem Yevtushenko v nogu’ (Bravely, comrades, march on).
Romances on Texts of W. Raleigh, R. wrote in response to Shostakovich’s desire Again, we cannot really know how this The text of ‘A Career’, the final poem
Burns and W. Shakespeare op. 62. The to set more of his work — is another multi- distancing technique is meant to be in the symphony, was especially rich
dedicatee of the song, Isaak Glikman, voiced setting. Though Yevtushenko was understood — was Shostakovich tapping in meaning for Soviet intellectuals of
was a lifelong friend of the composer’s, too young to remember the years of Stalin’s into the ‘Back to Lenin’ nostalgia of the the 1960s. Yevtushenko could not have
whose sense of humour Shostakovich terror, he had heard about them second- early 1960s, or is he creating a more critical written this poem in Stalin’s time, when
especially appreciated. But what should hand from his grandfather, and he and distance between his own voice and the ‘careerists’ held the whip hand over
we understand by this self-quotation? As Shostakovich apparently discussed those that of more orthodox Soviet sentiment? artists, advancing their own careers by
so often with Shostakovich’s music, it is years frankly together. As Shostakovich set The final lines of the ‘revolutionary song’ denouncing and persecuting those with
easier to detect hidden meanings than it the words evoking those chilling memories, verse typify Yevtushenko’s tendency to infinitely more talent and courage. It is
is to decipher them; ‘Humour’ is perhaps he avoids any suggestion of anger, but swing between an ‘unofficial’ and ‘official’ here that Shostakovich allows himself to
in part about ‘speaking truth to power’, agitation is clearly audible in the whole voice, here celebrating the Soviet Union’s smile for the first time in the symphony;
but the forceful tone of this movement passage, recalling perhaps the gnawing ‘spreading of fear’ in the hearts of their his not-entirely good-natured jibe at
suggests that, for Shostakovich, humour anxiety of those times. He also does not fail ‘enemies’ — a very Cold War sentiment the Soviet writer Alexei Tolstoy is openly
— a vital element of his personality and an to replicate the dreaded knock at the door, indeed. It is hard to imagine Shostakovich humorous, while the lilting introduction
essential survival mechanism — merited a on quiet timpani. feeling in complete accord with this, and conclusion for flute duet anticipate
strong, assertive character, not merely a and in fact when he next turned to a the childlike beauty of the final song in
comic one. The ‘alien’ voice enters with the verse Yevtushenko poem (for his cantata Stepan his cycle Suite on Texts of Michelangelo
beginning ‘We were not afraid to build in Razin), he freely cut lines that displeased Buonarroti op. 145, written right at the end
‘In the Store’ sets banal everyday scenes snowstorms’ — perhaps the weak point him. Perhaps he did not feel quite able of his life.
— a queue of Soviet housewives patiently in Yevtushenko’s poem. As with ‘Akh moi to do that at such an early stage of his
waiting in a shop — with an almost seni’ in ‘Babiy Yar’, the assumed voice here acquaintance with the poet, and so kept Pauline Fairclough

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Russian National Orchestra
© Sergei Demidov
1 Beschinstvuyut vozhdi traktirnoy stoyki. The tavern counter chiefs revel.
I. Babiy Yar I. Babi Yar I pakhnut vodkoy s lukom popolam. And they smell of vodka and onions.
Ya, sapogom otbroshennyi, bessilnyi, As I am kicked to the ground, I am helpless,
Nad Babyim Yarom pamyatnikov net. No memorial stands over Babi Yar. naprasno ya pogromshchikov molyu. I plead in vain with the hoodlums.
Krutoy obryv, kak gruboye nadgrobye. Only a steep cliff, like a rough gravestone. Pod gogot: “Bey zhidov! Spasay Rossiyu!” – As they gaggle: “Kill the Yids! Save Russia!”
Mne strashno, I’m terrified, Labaznik izbivayet mat’ moyu. A merchant is beating my mother.
mne segodnya stol’ko let, today, I am as old
kak samomu yevreiskomu narodu. as the Jewish nation itself. O, russkiy moy narod, ya znayu, ty Oh my Russian people, I know,
Po sushchnosti internatsionalen. you are in essence internationalists.
Mne kazhetsya seichas – ya iudey. I feel now as if I am a Jew. No chasto te, chyi ruki nechisty, But often those with stained hands
Vot ya bryedu po dryevnemu Egiptu. Here I wander through ancient Egypt. tvoim chisteishim imyenem bryatsali. abused your purest name.
A vot ya, na kryeste raspyatyi, gibnu, And here I am on the cross, crucified and Ya znayu dobrotu moyey zyemli. I know the kindness of my land.
i do sikh por na mne – sledy gvozdey. perishing, Kak podlo, shto, i zhilachkoy ne drognuv, How vile, that without a flinch
and I still have the nail marks on me. antisemity narekli sebya: the antisemites proclaimed themselves:
“Soyuzom russkovo naroda” ! “The Union of the Russian People.”
Mne kazhetsya, shto Dreifus – eto ya. I feel as if I am Dreyfus.
Meshchanstvo – moy donoschik i sudya. The bourgeoisie tells on me and judges me. Mne kazhetsya, ya – eto Anna Frank, I feel as if I am Anne Frank,
Ya za reshotkoy, ya popal v kol’tso, I am behind bars. I am surrounded, prozrachnaya, kak vetochka v aprele, transparent, like a twig in April,
zatravlennyi, oplyovannyi, obolgannyi. tormented, spat on, slandered. i ya lyublyu, i mne ne nado fraz, and I am in love and I don’t need words,
I damochki s bryusselskimi oborkami, And fine ladies dressed in Brussels lace, No nado, shtob drug v druga my smotreli. but need for us to look into each other.
viszha, zontami tichut mne v litso. with squeals, they poke their parasols into
my face. Kak malo mozhno videt’, obonyat’! How little one can see, can smell!
Nel’zya nam listyev i nel’zya nan neba, We can’t have leaves and we can’t have the
Mne kazhetsya – ya mal’chik v Belostoke. I feel as if I am a boy in Białystok. no mozhno ochen’ mnogo – sky,
Krov’ lyotsya, rastekayas’ po polam. The blood is flowing, covering the floor. eto nezhno but there is so much that we can,

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drug druga v tyomnoy komnate obnyat! we tenderly posledniy na zemle antisemit. has been buried.
embrace each other in a dark room!
Yevreyskoy krovi net v krovi moyey, There is no Jewish blood in blood of mine,
– “Syuda idut!” – “They’re coming!” no nenavisten zloboy zaskaruzloy yet like a Jew I am hated and despised
– “Ne boysa. Eto guly – “Don’t be afraid. These are the sounds ya vsem antisemitam kak yevrei, by all antisemites –
samoy vesny, ona syuda idyot. of spring itself, spring is coming here. I potomu ya nastoyashchiy russkiy! and that is why I am a true Russian!
Idi ko mne, Come to me,
day mne skoreye guby!” quickly, give me your lips!” 2
– “Lomayut dver’!” – “They’re breaking down the door!” I. Yumor II. Humour
– “Net! Eto ledokhod!” – “No! It’s the drift ice breaking!”
Tsari, koroli, imperatory, Tsars, kings, emperors,
Nad Babyim Yarom shelest dikihkh trav, The wild grass rustles over Babi Yar, vlastiteli vsey zyemli the rulers of the world
derevya smotryat grozno, po-sudeyski. the trees stare sharply, passing judgment. komandovali paradami, were in command of the parades
Zdes’ molcha vsyo krichit, Everything here screams in silence, no yumorom, no yumorom but couldn’t rule over humour,
i, shapku snyav, and, having taken off my hat, ne mogli. Ne mogli. they couldn’t rule over humour.
ya chuvstvuyu, kak medlenno sedeyu. I feel myself slowly turning grey. V dvortsy imenitykh osob, Arrived to the noblemen’s palaces,
vse dni vozlezhashchikh vykholenno, to those who spent their days reclining in style,
I sam ya, kak sploshnoy bezzvuchnyi krik, And I, myself am one long soundless scream yavlyalsya brodyaga Ezop, it was Aesop, the vagabond,
nad tysyachami tysyach pogrebyonnykh. above the thousand thousands buried here. i nishchimi oni vyglyadeli. who made them all appear penniless.
Ya – kazhdyi zdes’ rasstrelyannyi starik. I am every old man here shot dead.
Ya – kazhdyi zdes’ rasstrelyannyi rebyonok. I am every child here shot dead. Yavlyalsya brodyaga Ezop, Aesop the vagabond showed up
i nishchimi oni vyglyadeli. and they all seemed penniless.
Nishto vo mne pro eto nye zabudet. Nothing in me will ever forget this.
“Internatsional” pust’ progremit, May the “Internationale” roar V domakh, gde khanzha nasledil In houses marked by a prude,
kogda naveki pokhoronen budet once every last antisemite on earth svoimi nogami shchuplymi, with his weak little legs,

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Vsyu poshlost’ Khodzha Nasreddin Nasreddin Hodja was fighting crassness with rukoi makhal when he’d suddenly jump out of his coat,
shibal, kak shakhmaty, shutkami! jokes, i tyu-tyu! wave his hand
Khoteli yumor kupit’, knocking it down like pieces on a chessboard! and bye-bye!
da tol’ko yevo ne kupish! They’ve tried bribing humour,
Khoteli yumor ubit’, but humour just couldn’t be bought! Yumor pryatali v kamery, They’ve hidden humour away in prison cells,
a yumor pokazyval kukish! They’ve tried killing humour, da chyorta s dva udalos’. but there wasn’t a chance in hell.
but humour gave them the fig. Reshotki i steny kamennyie Both through bars and stone walls,
on prokhodil naskvoz’. he would go with ease.
Borotsya s nim delo trudnoye. Fighting him is a tough job. Otkashlivayas’ prostuzhenno, Coughing, he’d clear his throat,
Kaznili yevo bez kontsa. He’s been executed over and over. kak ryadovoy boyets, just like an ordinary soldier with a cold,
Yevo golova otrublennaya His chopped-off head shagal on chastushkoy-prostushkoy humour would be marching along, as a comic
torchala na pike streltsa. was sitting on top of a soldier’s pike. s vintovkoy na Zimniy dvorets. jingle,
No lish skomoroshji dudochki But as soon as the buffoon’s pipes with a rifle to the Winter Palace.
svoy nachinali skaz, would start telling their tale,
on zvonko krichal: he would cry out: Privyk on ko vzglyadam sumrachnym, He is used to sinister looks,
“Ya tutochki!” “Here I am!” no eto yemu ne vryedit, they don’t worry him at all,
I likho puskalsya v plyas. and would break into a dashing dance. i sam na sebya s yumorom and from time to time,
yumor poroy glyadit. even humour sees himself with some humour.
V potryopannom kutsem pal’tishke, In his worn out scanty coat, On vechen. He is eternal.
ponuryas’ i slovno kayas’, with lowered gaze, he would appear to be Vechen! Eternal!
prestupnikom politicheskim repenting, On lovok. He is skilful.
on, poymannyi, shol na kazn’. caught as a political prisoner, Lovok! Skilful!
Vsem vidom pokornost’ vykazyval, he would be going to his execution. I yurok, And swift,
gotov k nezemnomu zhityu, He would appear in full submission, I yurok! and swift!
kak vdrug iz pal’tishka vyskal’zyval, as if he was ready for life after life, Proydyot cherez vsyo, cherez vsekh. He will get through everyone and everything.

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Itak, da slavitsa yumor! And so, glory to humour! Eto zhenshchiny Rossii. These are the women of Russia.
On muzhestvennyi chelovek! He is a brave fellow! Eto nasha chest’ i sud. This is our honour and our supreme judge.
I beton oni mesili, They have mixed concrete by hand,
3 i pakhali, i kosili … they ploughed, and they scythed …
III. V Magazine III. In the Store Vsyo oni perenosili, They have been through everything,
vsyo oni perenesut. they will withstand everything to come.
Kto v platke, a kto v platochke, Some wearing shawls, some scarves,
kak na podvig, kak na trud, as to a great challenge, as to an act of labour, Vsyo na svete im posil’no, – Nothing in this world is impossible for them –
v magazin poodinochke to the store one by one skol’ko sily im dano! much strength they have been gifted with!
molcha zhenshchiny idut. women are walking in silence. Ikh obschityvat’ postydno! It is a disgrace to short-change them!
Ikh obveshivat’ greshno! It is a sin to short-weight them!
O, bidonov ikh bryatsan’ye, Oh, the clanking of their cans,
zvon butylok i kastryul’! the jingle of bottles and pots! I v karman pel’meni sunuv, As I shove dumplings into my pocket,
Pakhnet lukom, ogurtsami, It smells of onions, cucumbers, ya smotryu, surov i tikh, I am stern and quiet, I look
pakhnet sousom “Kabul’.” it smells of the “Kabul” sauce. na ustalyie ot sumok at how weary from carrying the bags
ruki pravednyie ikh. their hands are righteous.
Zyabnu, dolgo v kassu stoya, I shiver in the long queue to the cash desk,
no pakuda dvizhus’ k ney, but as I move closer, 4
ot dykhanya zhenshchin stol’kikh with the breath of so many women IV. Strakhi IV. Fears
v magazine vsyo tepley. it gets warmer and warmer in the store.
Umirayut v Rossii strakhi, Fears are dying out in Russia,
Oni tikho podzhidayut, Waiting quietly, slovno prizraki prezhnikh let, like the ghosts of bygone years;
bogi dobryie semyi, they are the family providence, lish na paperti, kak starukhi, only on church steps, like old women,
i v rukakh oni szhimayut and they clasp in their hands koye-gde yeshcho prosyat na khleb. they still beg for bread in certain places.
den’gi trudnyie svoyi. their hard-earned money.

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Ya ikh pomnyu vo vlasti i sile I still remember them in full power and might Ne boyalis’ my stroit’ v meteli, We were not afraid to build in snowstorms,
pri dvore torzhestvuyushchey lzhi. at the triumphant court of lies. ukhodit’ pod snaryadami v boy, nor of going away into battle under shellfire,
Strakhi vsyudu, kak teni, skol’zili, Fears used to slither everywhere, like shadows, no boyalis’ poroyu smertel’no but at times we were mortally terrified
pronikali vo vse etazhi. penetrating every floor. razgovarivat’ sami s soboy. of talking to ourselves.

Potikhon’ku lyudey priruchali They were steadily training people Nas ne sbili i ne rastlili, We have not been diverted nor corrupted,
i na vsyo nalagali pechat’: and left nothing without their mark: i nedarom seichas vo vragakh and it is for a good reason that now
gde molchat’ by – when one should keep quiet pobedivshaya strakhi Rossiya that Russia, that has conquered its own fears,
krichat’ priuchali, fears taught to shout, yeshcho bolshyi rozhdayet strakh. spawns even greater fear in our enemies.
i molchat’ – and to keep silent
gde by nado krichat’. when one needs to shout. Strakhi novyie vizhu, svetleya: Delighted, I see new fears:
strakh neiskrennim byt’ so stranoy, the fear of not being true to the country,
Eto stalo sevodnya dalyokim. Today, all this seems long gone. strakh nepravdoy unizit’ idei, the fear of lying and disrespecting those ideas,
Dazhe stranno i vspomnit’ teper’. It feels strange to even remember this now. shto yavlyayutsya pravdoy samoy; which form in themselves the truth;
Taynyi strakh pered chyim-to donosom, The secret fear of someone telling on you, strakh fanfarit’ do odurenya, the fear of fanfaronading oneself into a stupor,
taynyi strakh pered stukom v dver’. the secret fear of a knock at the door. strakh chuzhyie slova povtoryat’, the fear of repeating someone else’s words,
strakh unizit’ drugikh nedoveryem the fear of disrespecting others with a lack of
Nu, a strakh govorit’ s inostrantsem? And how about the fear of speaking to a i chrezmerno sebe doveryat’. trust,
S inostrantsem-to shto, a s zhenoy? foreigner? and that of trusting oneself too much.
Nu, a strakh bezotchotnyi ostatsya Let alone to a foreigner, even to your own wife!
posle marshey vdvoyom s tishinoy? And how about the unaccountable fear of Umirayut v Rossii strakhi. Fears are dying out in Russia.
being left I kogda ya pishu eti stroki And as I am writing these lines,
alone with silence, after the marches have i poroyu nevol’no speshu, and I hurry at times without realizing,
passed. to pishu ikh v yedinstvennom strakhe, I write them with a single fear in mind
shto ne v polnuyu silu pishu. That of not writing with all my power.

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5 Itak, da zdravstvuyet karyera, So long live the career,
V. Karyera V. A Career kogda karyera takova, when it’s a career like that of
kak u Shekspira i Pastera, Shakespeare or Pasteur,
Tverdili pastyri, shto vreden The preachers insisted Nyutona i Tolstovo, Newton or Tolstoy,
i nerazumen Galiley. that Galileo was dangerous and foolish. i Tolstovo … L’va? or Tolstoy … Lev?
(Shto nerazumen Galiley (That Galileo was foolish L’va! Lev!
Shto nerazumen Galiley) That Galileo was foolish)
No, kak pokazyvayet vremya, But, as proven by time, Zachem ikh gryazyu pokryvali? Why were they dragged through the mud?
kto nerazumney – tot umney! the fool is the one who’s wiser! Talant – talant, kak ni kleymi. Talent is talent, no matter how you
Zabyty te, kto proklinali, denounce it.
Uchyonyi, sverstnik Galileya, One scientist, Galileo’s fellow, no pomnyat tekh, kovo klyali. The ones who cursed are now forgotten,
byl Galileya ne glupeye. was just as wise as Galileo. but those who were cursed are still
On znal, shto vertitsya zemlya, He knew that the earth rotates, remembered.
no u nevo byla semya. but he had a family.
Vse te, kto rvalis’ v stratosferu, All those who aimed for the stratosphere,
I on, sadyas s zhenoy v karetu, And as he was stepping into a carriage with vrachi, shto gibli ot kholer, the doctors dying of cholera,
svershiv predatel’stvo svoyo, his wife vot eti delali karyeru! they were truly making a career!
schital, shto delayet karyeru, having committed his betrayal, Ya s ikh karyer beru primer! I take their careers as an example!
a mezhdu tem gubil yeyo. he imagined he was making a career,
while actually destroying it. Ya veryu v ikh svyatuyu veru. I believe in their sacred faith.
Ikh vera – muzhestvo moyo. Their faith is my courage.
Za osoznaniye planety For his study of the planet Ya delayu sebe karyeru I am making myself a career
shol Galiley odin na risk, Galileo alone took the risk, tem, shto ne delayu yeyo! by not making one!
i stal velikim on. Vot eto – and he did become a great man.
ya ponimayu – karyerist! Now that is a careerist! Yevgeny Yevtushenko (1932-2017)

22 23
Kirill Karabits
© Konrad Cwik
Acknowledgments This recording is part of the RNO/PENTATONE
Shostakovich cycle
Executive producer Renaud Loranger | A&R Manager Kate Rockett
Recording producer & editor Karel Bruggeman (Polyhymnia International B.V.)
Balance engineer Erdo Groot (Polyhymnia International B.V.)
Recording engineer Nadia Nikolayeva

Liner notes Pauline Fairclough | Lyrics translation and transliteration Veronika

Muravskaia | Design Marjolein Coenrady
Product management Veronika Muravskaia & Kasper van Kooten

This album was recorded at the DZZ Studio 5 in Moscow, Russia, in November 2017. PTC 5186 647 PTC 5186 511

Copyright for sung texts belongs to Dmitri Schostakowich, © Internationale Musikverlage Hans Sikorski
GmbH & Co. KG, Berlin, www.sikorski.de

The Russian National Orchestra wishes to thank Ann and Gordon Getty, the Mikhail Prokhorov
Foundation, and the Prince Michael of Kent Foundation for their support of this recording.

Vice President A&R Renaud Loranger | Managing Director Simon M. Eder
A&R Manager Kate Rockett | Product Manager Kasper van Kooten PTC 5186 076 PTC 5186 068
Head of Marketing, PR & Sales Silvia Pietrosanti For more information about the Russian National Orchestra
please visit www.rno.ru
Sit back and enjoy