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"Soviet Rus," Poem by Sergei Esenin
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"Soviet Russia," poem by Sergey Alexanvrovich Esenin, (1895-1925), for Baritone and Orchestra, in Russian. Orchestra includes English Horn, two harps, and contra bassoon.
jazz classical instrumental vocal opera orchestra chamber ballet
Artist picture
Composer for large-scale performance work, ballet and opera. Have written music for classical theatrical productions of Shakespeare, ("The Tempest," "The Twelft
Loren Lieberman is a native of Denver, Colorado, now living on the West Coast in California, where he is best known for his work as an actor in Classical and Shakespearean Theatre. He has a degree from Sonoma State University in Theatre Arts, and has been an Honor's Music Composition Student at the College of Marin, Santa Rosa Junior College, and at Sonoma State University. He has won an award for composition from the Redwood Empire Music Association. He has recently completed an opera in Russian, based on the novel by Alexander Solzhenitsyn, "Cancer Ward", (and of the same name), and is currently working on his fourth opera, based on the Classical Tragedy by Sophocles, "Oedipus the King," with a libretto in Ancient Greek. His interest in languages has shaped much of his artistic temperment, and he is self taught in Russian and Sanskrit, and has hopes to begin his next opera, Shakespeare's, "Romeo and Juliet," in Hindi.
Song Info
Genre
Classical • Opera
Charts
Peak #53
Peak in subgenre #4
Author
Loren Lieberman (Poem by Esenin)
Rights
adhikapokoya 2010
Uploaded
August 15, 2010
Track Files
MP3
MP3 8.9 MB • 112 kbps • 11:06
Story behind the song
The poem is cited in Chapter 12, of Solzhenitsyn's "Cancer Ward," a scene between Oleg and Zoya. It is the composer's argument, that poetry in the novel marks the recovery, and the return to humanity of the main character, Oleg. Everytime his character comes into contact with poetry, he experiences insight, and heals a bit more, spiritually. Sergey Alexanvrovich Esenin, (1895-1925), was a young poet of Russia, whose early death by his own hand at the age of 30 confirms the torment of the last few years of his life. One of Russia's most popular poets, most of his writing were banned by the Kremlin during the reigns of Stalin and Krushchev. The poem is referred to in the novel by Solzhenitsyn, "Cancer Ward."
Lyrics
"Soviet Russia," (to Sakharov) The storm passed. Not enough of us survived. On the roll call of friendship, not many answered. I again return to the orphaned edge, not yet eight years old. Whom do I call? with whom do I share the melancholy joy that I am alive? Here the fine brown one-winged bird stands, with eyes closed. I do not know anyone here, and those who remember are long forgotten. and where once was a father's house is now a layer of ash and road dust. And life is boiling. Around me scurrying both old and young faces. But no one to my hat bows, nor in their glances is no shelter found. And in my head are a swarm of thoughts: What is home? Can it be a dream? Everyone here, after all, is a morose pilgrim God knows from how far. And it's me! I am the citizen of the village, to become known, alone, among those at the time when Russian pity was given scandalous birth. But the voice of thought says to the heart: "Come to your senses! How are you offended? It is only a new light burns, another generation in the huts. Already you have faded, other boys are singing different songs. They might be interested, Not in the village, but in the whole Earth as their mother". Ah the birthplace, how funny I become cheeks sunken and dry ruddy. My speech marks me like a stranger, In my own country, I feel like a foreigner. Here I see: Sunday villages, At the parish, like in church, gather Gnarled unwashed speeches They have their Service. Already evening, liquid gold, set sprayed the gray field. And bare feet like heifers under the gate, Buried poplar trees along the ditches. Lame face of the soldier with a sleepy forehead, memoirs in the wrinkles by important for Budyonny Learn how to beat back the red Perekop. "We've been back and forth and back bourgeois from...the Crimea.....which..." maples frown ears of long twigs and the women groaning in mute gloom. from mountain goes peasant Komsomol, and zealously sing under harmony the Poor agitator Demian, happy cries filling the valley. That's so strange! What am I ears of wheat in verse, that I am a nation's friend? My poetry is no longer needed, Yes and, perhaps, I myself, also am here not needed. Well, forgive me, mother comfort. What has been done for you, I'm satisfied with that. Let me today not sing I sang then, when my land was sick. Agree and accept everything.. Ready to follow the dislocated footsteps. Gave with all heart to October and May, But only the lyre would not give up. I will not give it to someone else's hands, neither to mother nor friend, nor wife. Only to me it entrusts its delicate songs. Flowers, youthful and healthy body! You have another life. You have a different tune. And I will go alone to unknown borders Forever an example of the Rebellious soul. But even then, when passes from the entire planet warring tribes, and disappear lies and sadness I will sing with all the essense of a poet the sixth part of Earth with the shortened name, "Rus". 1924
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