“Explain – do I love because it hurts, or does it hurt because I love?”
Today is the birthday of Alexander Bashlachev—SashBash, poet, rock musician, troublemaker. A member of the tragic "27 Club," he cried out everything he had pent up over the course of several years and passed away—likely of his own free will—at 27.
He was considered a bard, but the only thing he had in common with Okudzhava, Vizbor, and Galich was the fact that he sang with an acoustic guitar. He was friends with rockers and was a member of the Leningrad Rock Club.
Bashlachev's songs must be heard, and certainly in their original performance—his ferocious energy has often been compared to that of Vysotsky. But even when read, his poems are nerve-wracking and linger in the memory.
You can listen to Bashlachev's songs online HERE и HERE.
1. We walked for a long time – in heat and frost.
They demolished everything and remained free.
They ate snow with birch porridge.
And they grew level with the bell towers.
If there is crying, we did not spare salt.
If it's a feast, it's gingerbread.
Bell ringers with black calluses
They tore the nerve of the copper speaker.
But times are changing every day.
The domes have lost their gold.
Bell ringers wander around the world.
The bells are knocked down and broken.
So, why are we beating around the bush now?
On your own field - like underground fighters?
If they didn't cast a bell for us,
So, it’s bell time here <…>.
Bell Time
2. "Time of the Bells" is a signature song for Bashlachev, which eventually became a kind of anthem for Russian rock. He sang it to the powerful accompaniment of a twelve-string guitar, wearing a bracelet with bells on his wrist, so that their ringing blended with the guitar chords.
3. Wanted to go to Alma-Ata, but arrived in Vorkuta.
I was whittling my own bast shoes, but they signed me up for the choir.
I wanted a Belomor, but only TU were available.
I wanted a telescope, but they gave me an axe.
I wanted to smoke, but it’s forbidden here.
I wanted to have some, but the wine dried out.
I wanted to explain that two ribs were broken.
I tried to object, but the masters beat me.
If you wanted to do it alone, you have to do it with three.
I was hoping to fall asleep when they commanded, “Rise!”
I spit in the face of the servant named the people.
I like BG, not the other way around.
I wanted to fly, but I had to crawl.
I tried to crawl, but got stuck halfway.
I'm rolling around in the mud. What if I get up and walk?
For this I face from one to five years <…>.
"Ward №6"
4. Boris Grebenshchikov on Bashlachev: “I now think with horror that I should have perceived all this as a treasure, but I was somehow very calm about it. He had not even songs, but entire performances. Did he work on them? I can’t say. I never saw it, but apparently he wrote new songs in notebooks… He would simply stop the song to turn over a page. This suggests that a great deal came to him. As if he begged God for more than he could handle.”
5. If we hadn’t been patient, we would still be singing today.
But they sat quietly - they woke up Likho.
A blizzard blows through the white chambers.
A dick nods its head from under a patch.
Clover and birches. Field tribe.
North and frosts. Golden stirrup.
Silver and tears in an Asian vase.
Then the holy fool princes
Our all-weather mud.
We walked barefoot through the diamond vein.
Many were shot. The rest were guarded.
Mourning ribbons. Velvet curtains.
Curses, applause and steel spurs. <…>
"Famously"
6. <…>If someone from out of town wanders in,
The poor creatures will be amazed,
Our rare strength of heart
Yes, to the foolishness of our evil, forbidden place.
Let's roll out a tub of cabbage.
Let's bake a cheesecake without dough.
- What, is it still empty outside?
But it’s still cramped inside…
Here's some honey mash for you -
Berry-villain-poison.
There you have it, my friend, Prague.
There you have it, my friend, Warsaw."
Let's have a good laugh, having caught a cold.
It doesn't matter what to laugh about.
If you are very bored in the mornings,
And in the evenings it’s very scary.
The seven of us are huddled on a chair.
The whole world, to the bunks.
Sleep, my child, lullaby-lullaby.
There is no one to break the birch tree.
“There’s no one to break the birch / Window to Europe”
7. <…> The small forest along the river is tied into wreaths.
If you say anything, they'll rip your head off.
Lights will sparkle at the last outpost
And a sentry will block the road with a bayonet.
– Forgive me my sins! I don’t remember the prayers.
If you want, I will atone for your sins with poetry,
But explain - I love because it hurts
Or does it hurt because I love? <…>
"The Road"
