I thought this would be a good fit with Motherland, by Zemfira, which I blogged two weeks ago. It was originally written by Yevgeniy Kliachkin, about the 1970s Jewish emigration; but this cover is by Boris Grebenshchikov, one of the founding fathers of Russian rock and a major Russian musical figure. Grebenshchikov, a critic of the war, himself recently left Russia, which makes the song especially resonant, I think. Here’s a doubtless imperfect translation of the lyrics:
Farewell I say to the country, where
I lived a life, I can’t figure out whose
And for the last time, while I’m still here
I drink this air like wine.
But I carry no blame, my land
I’m not the worst of your sons
If you say you must be the center of our love
Let me decide for myself what should be the center
To be cruel to your sons is sin
If you are truly a loving mother to them
My first snow was of course your snow
Yet allow me to know a second one
But there is love for you, believe me
I’m gladdened even by your slush
But flattery is toxic to love
So why, tell me, do you drink poison?
You are in me, how I am in you: entirely
Not one scar of mine will shout out.
Whatever would ring out in pain here
Would rustle as slander if said there.
Farewell I say to the country, where
I lived a life, I can’t figure out whose
And for the last time, while I’m still here
I drink this air like wine.
Many thanks to my parents, Anne and Vladimir, for their help, as well as to Valery Molot, to whom Kliachkin dedicated the song; Molot is now a lawyer in New York, and was kind enough to help me confirm some of the ambiguous meaning. And here’s Kliachkin’s own performance, though of course not tied to the Ukraine war the way Grebenshchikov’s is:
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