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When thinking of a song we would discuss this time I had a big variety of very good songs to choose from. Consider, for instance, the ‘Battalion Commander’ by Nikolay Rastorguyev, or ‘No Birds Sing Here’ by Bulat Okudhzava, an overwhelmingly powerful work in its simplicity; or some inspiring songs by Vladimir Vysotsky (he was not a combatant but was able to very artfully recreate the atmosphere of the front line); or, more recently, some songs by Yulia Chicherina, a Russian rock- and pop artist who is an active supporter of the Donetsk People’s Republic and the Luhansk People’s Republic in their war to breakaway from the Ukraine. (You may well say that these two republics do not legally exist, as they have never been recognised by the international law. But does such a thing as the international law exist these days? The question is of course a rhetorical one, but what makes me ask it?)
After much consideration, I have decided to share with you my vision of ‘In a Frontline Forest,’ a song composed by Matvey Blanter in 1943. Its lyrics were written by Mikhail Isakovsky. The song was featured in the late 90es by Oleg Pogudin, a Russian singer, TV presenter, and artist. Please do not see it as an old and long-forgotten tune that then suddenly is featured by a media celebrity in order to maintain his or her favourable public image. To begin with, Oleg Pogudin, even though he is the bearer of the title of People’s Artist of Russia, is not a pop star; secondarily, his interpretation, while being a very good one, is not unique, given that the song was performed by an impressive number of both Soviet and Russian artists in the 60es, the 70es, the 80es, and the 90es of the last century; in fact, it has never stopped being performed.
My (more or less clumsy) translation of the lyrics was sent to you before. Let me quickly summarise the plot for those of you who have not received it (‘the plot,’ I am saying, because this song, much like the previous one, also tells us a story, as perhaps any military song does). Somewhere in the front line, an amateur accordionist plays an old waltz. The rest of the platoon are sitting around and listening to him ‘as though in a trance.’ They are recalling their beloved ones, their wives or maybe their girlfriends. And then comes the fourth verse which probably is the climax of the text. Let me please cite it at full length.
Let light and joy of prior dates
Shine while these trying times,
And if it's time to lay in earth,
Then, well, it is only once.
But even death—in fire, in smoke—
Shall not intimidate,
And what each one's supposed to do
Let each one to achieve.48
I anticipate your disappointment: some of you, even if being touched by this soldier’s philosophy, would still ask me, ‘What is there to reflect upon, to analyse, to talk about?’ Others would deprecatingly characterise this poetical text, inspiring common soldiers to go and fight the Nazis even at cost of their own lives, as a banal piece of the official Soviet propaganda. It is a piece of the official Soviet propaganda, but not only that. And what is propaganda, by the way? The Oxford Learner’s Dictionary defines propaganda as ‘ideas or statements that may be false or present only one side of an argument that are used in order to gain support for a political leader, party, etc.’ Propaganda is, in other words, political brainwashing, an attempt at manipulation, something that produces ‘emotional rather than rational response,’ as Wikipedia formulates it, and that tries to cha
You know, I would prefer ‘In a Frontline Forest’ over ‘We’ll Meet Again’ if I were a soldier, and this not because of my nationality, but only because the Russian song sounds less manipulative. It doesn’t really say that I (in my capacity of a soldier, that is) would necessarily meet my sweetheart again; instead of it, it very coolly warns me that anything, including my own death, can happen, which is of course less comforting, but more honest. The song doesn’t tell lies, the only comfort that it gives being the idea that everyone can die only once—which is completely true, by the way. So why do we still want to see it as an attempt at manipulation?
Would you also like to regard, say, St Luke’s Gospel, the whole of it, as a single piece of propaganda, just because it appeals to our emotionality rather than to our intelligence? Some of you would probably answer affirmatively which then would allow me to say that the Russian song we are talking about is in a good company.
As for this song being ‘too simplistic,’ in terms of its philosophy, in particular, and ‘soldier’s philosophy’ in general, I would give you a lengthy quotation from A Christmas Sermon by Robert Louis Stevenson, a Scottish novelist and travel writer of the 19th century.
An unconscionable time a-dying—there is the picture (“I am afraid, gentlemen,”) of your life and of mine. The sands run out, and the hours are “numbered and imputed,” and the days go by; and when the last of these finds us, we have been a long time dying, and what else? The very length is something, if we reach that hour of separation undishonoured; and to have lived at all is doubtless (in the soldierly expression) to have served. There is a tale in Tacitus of how the veterans mutinied in the German wilderness; of how they mobbed Germanicus, clamouring to go home; and of how, seizing their general's hand, these old, war-worn exiles passed his finger along their toothless gums. Sunt lacrymae rerum [Latin for ‘There are tears for things’]: this was the most eloquent of the songs of Simeon. And when a man has lived to a fair age, he bears his marks of service. He may have never been remarked upon the breach at the head of the army; at least he shall have lost his teeth on the camp bread.
Our live, when seen from this perspective, is not much more than a long term that we serve in the army, at the end of which term there is time for us to ‘lay in earth’ (and this is precisely what the Russian song promises that we will do). Sunt lacrymae rerum, indeed (the phrase itself derives from Book I, line 462 of the Aeneid by Virgil; I would be happy to hear your own interpretation of it). Even things have their tears, much more us humans; but even so, it still makes sense to live, because—allow me to repeat it—‘[t]he very length is something, if we reach that hour of separation undishonoured.’ (Does it sound as Mandarin Chinese to you, I wonder?)
Let me dwell upon three or maybe four essential details of this song before we finish, the first of them being the musical genre it belongs to. Technically speaking, it is a waltz, and a very quiet one: it calms you down, it gives you a few minutes of deep relaxation that I guess a soldier in the frontline needs so much. Let me please share with you some personal, very personal details: twice in my life, I was very close to ‘deserting the army,’ to use the metaphor by Robert Louis Stevenson. It was some very calm and soothing songs that helped me go through these periods both times, ‘In a Frontline Forest’ being one of them. I do say that the song has an almost psychotherapeutic effect—on me, at least.
Do you know that its melody originates from Songe d’Automne, a waltz written in 1908 by Archibald Joyce, an English light music composer? This is exactly Songe d’Automne that the u