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Vladimir Vysotsky is an outstanding Russian poet of the 60ties whose popularity can be compared with that of Bob Dylan in the USA Here is an article written by the great poet's father which throws light on some facts from the poet's life.
THIS IS WHAT OUR SON WAS LIKE
by S.V. Vysotsky
Translayed by Alec Vagapov
Vladimir Vysotsky has left a big creative heritage, and there have already been attempts to analyze it both in
the press and in books written on him. Obviously, this is only the beginning, for further investigation and attempts to understand Vysotsky's creative work are yet to come. As his father, I should like to dwell on some moment's in my son's life which throw light on his personality, disposition and, in the final analysis, on his works.
The biography of a person, including his creative biography, begins at home, in his family, because one's
personal life tends to be interwoven with one's closest relatives, and each family lives in accordance with its own rules and laws.
Vladimir Vysotsky was born in Moscow on January 25th, 1938. In his early childhood he lived with my first
wife Nina. What were those years like? Well, as it was the case with other children of the prewar period it was life in communal flats with many neighbors and quite unsophisticated toys. Then the was the war time. Vladimir and his mother lived in immigration for two years, and though I did send them my officer's data still they were quite hard up. So Vladimir's early childhood was not very happy.
I would like to say a few words about my pedigree because Vladimir had some traits of his relatives. His
grandfather Vladimir Vysotsky was an educated man, in fact, he had higher education in three fields : economy, chemistry and law. His grandmother Darya was a medical employee and for many years worked as a cosmetologist. She was an ardent theatergoer and was particularly fond of the Russian Theatre of Drama in Kiev where she would not miss a single new play. She was very happy about her grandson choosing the path of an actor and going to the theatrical studio at Moscow Academic Theatre of Drama. She liked Vladimir's songs and the way he performed them. When he visited Kiev on a tour with his Taganka Theatre he would always invite his grandmother to see the performance. She was proud of her grandson.
Vladimir inherited my disposition and gait and also my voice : when talking on the phone even our closest
friends and relatives could not tell his voice from mine.
When I was young I learned to play the piano, though I did not go beyond the basic skills. I liked singing and
my favorite songs were those of Vertinsky and Dunayevsky as well as some other popular songs. In the film «The Place of Meeting Cannot Be Changed» Vladimir sang one of Vertinsky's songs precisely the way I do it, and later he asked me if I had recognized myself. I said I had.
I come from Kiev. I studied at Moscow Technical School of Communication where I took a course of military
training. Upon graduation I got the rank of a junior lieutenant, and in March 1941 I was drafted for military service. I went through the war from the first to the last day taking part in the defense of Moscow, the liberation of Donbass, and Lvov, as well as the seizure of Berlin and went as far as Prague. I have 28 orders and medals of the Soviet Union and Czechoslovakia; I am an honorary citizen of the Czechoslovak city of Kladno.
After the war I graduated from The Military Academy of Communication, served in signal troops and retired in
the rank of a colonel. From 1971 to 1988 I worked at an enterprise of the Ministry of Communication. I am a pensioner now.
The war separated me from my son for four years. We met in June, 1945 in Moscow. I arrived along with the
1st Ukrainian Front under the command of Lelushenko, when we prepared for the military parade in Moscow. It was at that time when I presented Vladimir with my major's shoulder loops. Later he described this occasion in his poem called «The Ballad of My Childhood».
Nina and I could not get on somehow, and when we separated we decided that our son would stay with me.
Vladimir came to stay with me in January 1947, and my second wife Yevgenia became Vladimir's second mother for many years to come. They had much in common and like each other which made me really happy.
I served in the city of Eberswald, Germany. I would be away from home for weeks on end to participate in
exercises, field training and so on. It was Yevgenia who took care of Vladimir and brought him up. She indulged him yielding to his whims and desires. Once, for example, he told her he wanted a military uniform just like his father's, with box calf boots. Yevgenia went in search of a shoe maker until she found one. When the jackboots were ready Vladimir put them next to mine, comparing, and seeing that they were absolutely identical he was elated. He willingly had his picture taken at the photographer's. I still keep that picture.
In those days Vladimir began to show his character. Yevgenia recalled how one day I went hare hunting and
when he saw the hare I had killed Vladimir asked her : «Why did daddy do that?» On another occasion Yevgenia put a strip of chamois fur in Vladimir's boots for comfort and warmth but he would not wear them. «They pinch here, they are too tight there, my toes are burning... » - he kept complaining. In the end we had to give the boots to a boy from the neighborhood.
Did Vladimir differ from other children ? No, except that he was fidgety and daring and thus he was the leader
in games and mischievous tricks. He would come home with his knees grazed and his face sooty. Obviously, he had played a game of war. The burnt eyebrows and soot on his face showed that there had been a grenade or cartridge explosion.
Vladimir learnt to swim early. He would swim several times across the river Finow which had not yet been
cleared of shells and mines.
I wanted him to learn to play the piano, and we hired a tutor to teach him. The tutor said Vladimir had a
perfect ear for music. But the street seemed to be more attractive to him, and so Yevgenia resorted to a trick : she, too, started learning to play the piano, as if challenging Vladimir.
He showed generosity and kindness from early childhood. I remember buying him a bicycle, he did some
riding, and after a while he gave it, as a gift, to a German boy, and this is how he explained it to me: «You are alive, daddy, whereas he hasn't got a father». What could I say to that ?
He had retained this generosity for the rest of his life. When he was grown up and traveled around the country
or abroad he would bring plenty of gifts to friends and relatives, and if he was lacking for a gift for someone he would give away what he had bought for himself. He liked to please people and make them happy. His friends remember him to be not only generous but also affectionate and even tender. He respected elderly people and was a loyal friend, a tactful and a well brought up man. It was Yevgenia's contribution who had developed those remarkable traits in him. Vladimir could not stand injustice and indifference, he would stick up for a weakling when he saw one being hurt. He would often come home with shadows under the eyes for that reason.
Once he was resting in the country house in the village of Plyuta on the Dnieper together with Vitaly, the son of
Yevegina's niece. The boy fell ill and had a high temperature. There was a couple in the neighborhood, both were doctors, and Yevgenia asked them for help. They refused to examine Vitaly because they said they were in the country-house to rest and not to work. Vladimir took revenge on them. When they sat down to have tea by the open window Vladimir climbed the tree opposite the house and started bawling like Tarzan....
Vladimir was fond of books from his childhood. He would read in the day time and at night under the cover of
the blanket, using a flashlight. He liked to retell what he had read and had a brilliant memory. He would learn a poem by heart after reading it once, and it took him an hour or so to memorize a long epic in verse. At school he did well but his success was not stable.
I am telling about his childhood in detail because it was at this time that he developed his world outlook and
understanding of life which in some way or other told on his poetry. He has many songs about the war-time. It is interesting because war participants thought the author of the songs to be one of them, as if he had participated in the war together with them going to attacks and shooting down planes. How did Vladimir come to know the life of war participants, their daily routine, with deep penetration into the heroism and tragedy of the war ? He himself said that the topic was prompted not only by his imagination but also by stories told by war participants. Who were they, all those
people ? I think that my brother Alexey, a lieutenant-colonel, aroused interest in the war time events. He has
seven awards including three Red Banner Orders. When they met Vladimir would not step away from «uncle Lyosha» for a minute.
In Germany and in Moscow my friends often visited us at our home and Vladimir would listen to our
conversations intently, then he would turn to «uncle Lyosha», «uncle Fedya» and «uncle Sasha» asking questions.
To Nikolai Skomorokhov, Air Marshal, Hero of the Soviet Union, Vladimir dedicated his «Ballad Of the
Killed Pilot». The stories of colonel-general Leonid Sapkov, and Alexander Borisov and colonel Nikolai Sernov also found reflection in Vladimir's songs. Late in the sixties he even visited lieutenant-general Fyodor Bondarenko ( who died in an air-crash in 1973 ) in the city of Arkhangelsk. He performed in the House of Officers before the personnel of the garrison and their families. My conversations with my son about the war had, I think, also left traces in his mind.
We returned from Germany in October 1949. Vladimir went to School 186, which was near the place we
lived in, and namely Bolshoy Karetny Lane. We had one room in a communal flat and later one more room was added. I got an appointment in Kiev where I stayed until November 1953. Yevgenia had taken care of Vladimir all this time and when she visited me in Kiev he would stay in Moscow with her mother and her niece. During the summer holidays he would come to rest with us in our country house near Kiev and together with Yevgenia and her relatives he would spend the summer under Baku and also in the city of Adler on the Black Sea coast. Besides, he would stay in the family of my brother Alexey in Gaitchin and Mukatchevo, the Ukraine. He would also go for a rest in a winter camp in the suburbs of Moscow.
Vladimir spent his green years in Bolshoy Karetny Lane. Here he went to school from the 5th to the 10th
forms and got to know «the life of the yard» and saw many characters of his would be songs, the early ones in particular:
Where are your 17 years?
In Bolshoy Karetny.
Where are your 17 troubles?
In Bolshoy Karetny.
And where is your black pistol?
In Bolshoy Karetny...
The pistol mentioned in the song is my captured «Walter» which had the barrel filled up with lead Vladimir
found it at home and used it when playing war games until Yevgenia who was afraid of trouble threw the pistol away.
Vladimir always remembered Bolshoy Karetny Lane. When he and his mother moved to a new flat he still
would frequent Bolshoy Karetny to drop in at our place and to see us and his friends, his former schoolmates and classmates living in the vicinity, around Samotek Square
After 1960 when we moved to Kirov Street Volodya visited Bolshoy Karetny as before and it was there in
Levon Katcheryan's flat that Vladimir made friends with Vasily Shukshin and Andrey Tarkovsky. ...
In an improvised questionnaire there was a question about his favorite place in his favorite city, to which
Vladimir's answered: Samotek Square, Moscow.
Vladimir first showed craving for poetry writing when he was at high school in Moscow. The things that
stimulated him to writing songs , I think, were his natural gift and love of books. The range of his interests was really wide. He read historical novels and Russian and foreign classics. When he was in the tenth form at school he attended a drama circle at The House of Teachers lead by actor V. I. Bogomolov, of Moscow Academic Theatre of Drama, who noticed Vladimir's gift for acting.
We did not think that Vladimir would be an actor. We wanted him to be an engineer, and under our influence,
probably, he went to Moscow Institute of Construction. He studied the first half of the academic year, passed the examination but left the Institute, to our regret.
It was clear later that we had failed to see what was going on in his heart. Vladimir chose his way himself
entering the school of actors at Moscow Academic Theatre of Drama. He had a dream and was determined to make it come true:
I have the proper face and height
Thanks to my parents
I get along with people
I never push them round
Nor did I bow and scrape
I kept my head
I didn't care
I lived the way I lived
Giving a helping hand to my head.
In 1956 while attending the drama studio he got acquainted with Izya Zhukova who was in her third year i.e. 2
years ahead of him, and in 1960 when she graduated from the studio they got married. They lived a friendly life but as they worked in different cities they separated. At the end of 1961, during the shooting of the film «713 Requests Landing» Vladimir met the would be mother of his two sons, Ludmila Abramova,. whom he officially married in 1965.
Yevgenia and I treated Iza and Ludmila well and did all we could to help them set up a stable family. Now
after so many years we still maintain good relationship.
Vladimir was a man of purpose, self-critical and exceedingly diligent, working at full stretch, so to say. As I
mentioned before, he had a brilliant memory which helped him in his studies and in his poetical and theatrical activities. At times I compared him with myself because serving in the army is energy consuming particularly during the war and field exercises. But now I think that the weight of cares on his shoulders could not be compared in the same breath with mine. Vladimir would often sleep four hours a day writing songs mostly at night because in the day time he had to rehearse at the theatre, act in films and perform on stage.
He was seriously interested in art and had a big collection of reproductions of famous artists. Working on the
part he was to play he always tried to precise reproduction of the image. When preparing for acting he took a course of horse-riding at the Moscow race-track. He had also mastered the basics of karate, went in for boxing and fencing so that he could do without a stunt man during the film shooting and give realistic characters in his poetry.
In his childhood Vladimir's was not quite healthy. The doctors had diagnosed the case as cardiac murmur...
And although he was taken off the books at the age of 16 the doctors asked him to take care and avoid unnecessary emotional disturbance. But could he, Vladimir Vysotsky, hide himself in trenches ? He was always the first to throw himself on the parapet and rush to the attack against the bullets of apathy, inertness, swagger and bureaucracy... He fought these evils by means of poetry and by acting in films and on stage. He has the song called «He Hasn't Returned From the Fighting». And indeed, he hasn't returned ...
I went through the war from beginning to end and I saw a lot in my life, and I can say that the son was more
courageous than the father. He was braver and more steadfast than many others. Why ? Because many of us, including myself, saw the shortcomings and injustice in the society and the arrogance of people, often high rank officials, but did not speak out. If we did speak it was only among ourselves, at table or in corridors. But Vladimir was brave enough to tell the world about it. At the top of his voice. He never showed off and thought courage and honesty to be the most important things in his poetical and theatrical activity.
He was a real patriot.
I liked Vladimir's songs. But I was alarmed for his life because telling the truth was not popular in those days.
After 1970 when Marina Vladi would leave Moscow and Vladimir would stay alone at home he and his
colleagues from Theatre On Taganka, people like Vsevolod Abdulov, Valery Zolotukhin, Veniamin Smekhov and others would come to see us at our place in Kirov Street to relax, and have supper after the hard day. Yevgenia and I liked these visits, we would listen to their discussions and talks about life on stage and sometimes we would hear new songs that Vladimir would sing. The song called «The Ballad of the Abandoned Ship», for instance, was first performed at our home.
When Marina would arrive in Moscow they would come to see us, they even lived with us at one time when
their flat in Maly Gruzinsky Street was being decorated.
Vladimir was very considerate of his parents, particularly when someone was not feeling well. I remember
being operated on once, and while the operation was under way Vladimir stayed in hospital. And it was not until the operation was over that he called Yevgenia on the phone. When I came round after the operation I saw Vladimir and the doctor by my side. I asked Vladimir when the operation would start to which he said smiling : «Daddy, you've missed the boat, everything is fine, you must sleep now».
Vladimir had managed to see the world. He had visited many European countries as well as the USA, Canada
and Mexico ( which he liked best ); he had even been to Tahiti. Naturally, he had to talk to Western reporters who tried to find a hint in his words about «oppression» in the Soviet Union. And although Vladimir did have an occasion to reprove the officials who decided whether or not his poems should be published and his records be released yet he was always beyond the intrigues. He always spoke highly about his homeland. When visiting even most exotic countries he would always miss home and friends. It can be vividly seen in his poems and songs.
The result of his short and uneasy life and hard work is in his literary heritage... When we were preparing the
release of the first anthology of his songs called «THE NERVE» we had counted 600 pieces. Maybe, there are more of them. ( I have given my son's remaining manuscripts to the Central Archive of Literature and Art in Moscow, it s there that Vladimir Vysotsky's archive is kept now ).
Time cannot heal our grief. What consoles me is the fact that Vladimir Vysotsky is now officially recognized
and that people love him. His books are widely published, his records released and there are many books with reminiscences about him.
It is a pity that the sudden tragic death of Yevgenia whom Vladimir loved so much did not allow her to see and
read all these compositions...
I am glad that Vladimir has two fine grown up sons.
They, too, are men of art. Arcady, the elder son, has graduated from the Institute of Cinematography, and
Nikita, the younger one, has followed in his father's footsteps : he has graduated from the Theatrical Studio of Moscow Academic Theatre and is now working at a theatre. They have children : Arcady has a nine year old daughter, Natasha by name, and a six year old son, Vladimir. Nikita has a son, Simon, who is 4 years old. And I firmly believe that they all will be worthy of Vladimir, their father and grandfather.
So the life goes on...
Here are some of Vysotsky's poems
The common graves
Translated by Alec Vagapov
They don't put up crosses on communal graves,
And widows don't come to shed tears;
But flowers are laid and eternal flames
Will never be quenched, it appears.
The earth that was shaking and heaving of late
With granite and marble is plated.
There isn't a single separate fate,
All fates are in one integrated.
We see in the flame our burning tank,
A house on fire and smoulder,
The burning Smolensk and the burning Reichstag,
The burning heart of a soldier.
The tearful widows don't visit the place,
To give and receive the blessing.
They don't put up crosses on communal graves
But does it make less distressing?
He hasn't returned from the fighting
Translated from the Russian by Alec Vagapov
Why has everything changed? Life goes on as it should...
There's the sky over us, blue as ever,
As before there's the air, the water, the wood...
But he's lost in the fighting for ever.
The informer
translated from the Russian by Alec vagapov
In our gang no strangers we would let.
And so one day - God damn - I took my chances -
I brought the man along with me and said
"He's one of us, now let us charge the glasses".
He kept us company and seemed to be content,
We welcomed him like a good friend, or brother,
However, he betrayed us in the end.
It was my fault, do not blame any other.
I don't recall the trial, what a plight!
And then there was the barrack, cold as grave, and
It seemed to me it was a pitch-black night,
And it was not a dream, it was apparent.
I will reserve myself and I'll revive;
He thinks that he will never ever see me,
He was too fast to bury me alive,
He was mistaken, boys, believe me.
The day will come, the night will not last long,
I'll ask you when atonement is around:
"It was my fault, I brought the man along,
Give him to me, and I will have it out".
I do not understand who was right, who was wrong
In disputes that we had, rather biting.
It was not until now that I started to long
For the one who did not come from fighting.
He'd be awkwardly silent, he'd sing out of tune,
And his absence of mind was exciting,
He would not let me sleep, sitting up by the moon...
but last night he did not come from fighting.
I'm destitute now, and I've just touched the ground,
It occurred to me : I'd been beside him...
And I felt as if I had my fire blown out
when he didn't return from the fighting.
Like a prisoner from jail, spring has broken away.
By mistake I addressed him now, shouting :
"Got a lighter, old man?" - but what could he say?-
If last night he did not come from fighting.
In the dugout we had room enough to get by,
And for both of us time would be sliding...
But now he is gone, and I think it was I
Who did not come alive from the fighting.
* * *
Translated from the Russian by Alec Vagapov
I was fond of nasty tricks and women,
And at changing them I didn't draw the line.
There were stories about my demeanor
And the numerous love-affairs of mine.
Way down south near the sea - I mean it -
I was walking once along the road,
And I encountered one of those women
That in my life I came upon a lot.
She was kind, a very generous creature,
And as open-hearted as could be,
She was nicely shaped, and had fine features,
While I didn't have a coin about me.
What she wanted were little presents,
Such as brandy, golden rings, perfume.
In return she'd grant the little pleasure
Of her dubious service, I presume.
"If it comes to that, I'll give you, honey,
The most precious thing I have," she said.
"I agree,- I said,- to pay ye a hundred,
Otherwise, I'll pool it with my friend."
Women are like very angry horses,
Bit between their teeth, they'll wheeze and chafe...
I might've got her wrong, she was ferocious,
Made her farewell and left.
Later on the passions had calmed down.
She turned up, her anger shaken off.
My impression was that now she found
The price I'd offered suitable enough.
