On June 2, the poet Andrei Voznesensky, one of the colorful, morally irreproachable geniuses known collectively as the shestidesyatniki (“the ‘60s generation”), passed away.
He was 77.
As Serge Schmemann observed in the New York Times, “the poems of the shestidesyatniki were not for literary salons. They were meant to be performed in public, before agitated throngs. They were freewheeling, ironic, muscular, emotional, jocular, radical, controversial and invariably thrilling.”
A long-time friend and disciple of Boris Pasternak, Voznesensky penned hundreds of poems and songs, often imbued with rich and all but untranslatable satire. This page cannot do his life or work justice, but we do wish to mention his passing, in hopes that readers will search out more of his work (for instance, follow the Links From this Issue from the table of contents on our website), and present a poem by Voznesensky that speaks well to the place of the poet in any society.
Звезда над Михайловским*
Поэт не имеет опалы,
Спокоен к награде любой.
Звезда не имеет оправы,
Ни черной, ни золотой.
Звезду не убить каменюгами,
Ни хищным прицелом наград.
Он примет удар камер-юнкерства,
Посетует, что маловат.
Важны ни хула или слава,
А есть в нем музыка, иль нет.
Опальны земные державы,
Когда отвернется поэт.
A Star Over Mikhailovsky
A poet has no disgrace,
Needs no awards.
A star has no frame,
Neither black nor golden.
A star can’t be killed with stones,
Or predatory awards given at gunpoint.
He’ll bear the blow of sycophants,
Lamenting that he’s a nothing.
What’s important is not abuse nor fame,
But whether he is filled with music.
Wordly powers fall are disgraced,
When the poet turns them away.
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