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Copyright @ 2000 by Tatyana Elmanovich Vladimir
Vissotski 11-29-99 Archie, the Guide, About True Celebrities What is fame? Fame is nothing but illusion and a test for both so called celebrities and their fans. Both can go crazy and I don't know who goes crazier -- fans or celebrities. I think about the cases of celebrities being killed. This is the only right thing that can happen to a real celebrity. If a celebrity is real, he or she will be killed, as was Princess Diana and John Lennon because the fans will never stop until they eat their idols up to the last crumb. The fabulous pens were killed. Byron was killed, Dickens worked himself to death, Chopin worked himself to death, and Mozart worked himself to death… His fans didn't pay him; they really loved to see a genius starving and dying from working too much… Always on the edge, always head in the clouds listening, listening to heavenly music. He heard ten times more than he could write down technically. He was a great scriber but still always felt beaten by his own imperfection. If some celebrities had the chance to die a natural death, this happened because they had never fully been celebrities, more like products than creators, more puppets in the hands of financial powers. They stayed alive not because of being so damn good but because of being so damn poor; my favorite actor, sir Charles Chaplin included.
Introduction Why? According to Archie's theory, Vladimir Vissotski was a true celebrity. He might be considered Elvis Presley's Russian counterpart. If Presley sang about love in a country of plenty that experienced shortage only in one thing -- love, then Vissotski sang about freedom because freedom was what Russians needed most to keep their place on the face of the earth. Who? If an artist can be credited for helping to tear down the Berlin Wall, the Russian iron curtain, and the Communist regime, it would be Vladimir Vissotski, a Russian poet, bard, and leading actor of Moscow's legendary Drama Theater in Taganka, and renowned in West European theatrical circles for his Hamlet. He started his artistic career in the 60's. But these were not his splendid theatrical and cinematic performances that shook the iron curtain and undermined the Berlin Wall. These were his songs that made an impact on the Communist world. He sang about longing for freedom and justice, and about everything that Russians were in the '60s and '70s -- what they did, what they wanted, how they perceived their world and themselves. Vladimir Vissotski could be considered Elvis Presley's Russian counterpart. Both lived only 42 years, and both were connected and tuned into the psyche of their people. If Elvis Presley's songs created the energy of love literally, then Vladimir Vissotski's songs created the energy of freedom, humanity and self-esteem in a country of gulags and poverty that strove for growth through walls of ideology, curtains of limitations and bans on belief, love and dreams. Vissotski adopted forbidden folk songs of Siberian prisoners and city 'street songs' about petty criminals, losers, drunkards, cheating beauties, rehabs, unbearable lines for bread, and longing to travel abroad into the land of fairy tale, and the bitter truth of how a Russian looks abroad; about crowded railway stations, and airports, wild wolf hunts, friendships, betrayals, and of course --love. Vissotski and his guitar-- he stood alone in front of his growing crowd. His fan clubs were increasing and merging into a nationwide audience. This happened without the help of Soviet television, radio, magazines, or any other form of publicity. Vladimir Vissotski's songs were forbidden and his public image was banned. And they -- the Communist Party and KGB -- still lost control over his popularity. He happened to be the very first Russian who was served by the power of technological advancement. At his illegal concerts he allowed people to record his songs. The primitive copies of those recordings swept the country with the speed of brush fire That speed couldn't be controlled. They couldn't arrest people for having Vissotski's tapes at home because they would have to arrest the entire country. The majority of these copies were presented to others as gifts, an unheard of novelty, an exceptional something that had somehow slipped through the censure and could be taken away in an instant. The commercialization of these copies started much later, when the bard was already dead. There was a rumor that a couple of American film producers offered Vissotski a film role in Hollywood. Vissotski's popularity was spilling over the iron curtain. Probably, it was the moment when the officials decided to catch up with events and get him. July 25, 1980 he was found dead. Over one million people attended his funeral. The official version said that he died from a heart attack, but persistent rumors whispered that there were traces of ropes on his body and that he was beaten to death. In 1997, commemorating the poet's 60th birthday, the Moscow publishing house of Nadezhda-1 published an opulent four-volume collection of Vladimir Vissotski's works -- poems, stories, unfinished poems, versions, drafts, letters, photos of all his theatrical and film works, and all available documents pertaining to Taganka's famous Hamlet production. In other words, this 4-volume collection contained everything anyone could think of. Only one article was missing -- a bio essay about the author's life. And again -- you wouldn't find a word of explanation, why the obvious -- a biographical essay -- was missing. One can only guess that such an essay has to address the circumstances of its subject's death. So the publisher would have to take a stand, and either refute the version of a violent death or confirm it; or refute the version of death caused by a heart attack, or confirm it. But for some reason, the Moscow publishers couldn't make up their minds which way to go! It seems that Russia is still not ready to learn how its poets die. Or to make it simple, publishers still prefer to wait until someone involved and important disappears from the arena of public life. So, we observe two completely opposite situations -- openness and secrecy. Every day of Elvis Presley's life is recorded, and analyzed and interpreted from many different points of view. And here we have the life of his Russian counterpart -- Vladimir Vissotski -- the idol of Russians who died 20 years ago, but his people still don't know how. Of course, there have been many attempts to write Vissotski's biography. Some titles are even advertised on the American www.amazon.com. I tried to order all the advertised titles, but I received none of them. I tried to find them in Moscow and Saint Petersburg's on-line bookstores. The best they could come up with was the four-volume collection Vladimir Vissotski -- the edition in question without the biographical data. Elvis Presley and Vladimir Vissotski. What can be more opposite than openness and concealement? In spite of it, there was a feature that united Presley and Vissotski. Both were called "the king" by their contemporaries, and both kept their courts and huge crowds of fans that ran their lives and finally led to their deaths. And now the kings speak to us from beyond their celebrated graves telling us that death isn't the end, but rather a continuation where they met everything that had been set in motion during their days on earth. There are still issues that they want to talk about and let us know what they have to say in justification of their deeds, our deeds and everybody's deeds on earth. Why Me? I
have no idea why me. Twenty years after Vladimir Vissotski's death, while
living in the United States, I received five poems in Russian. The
spirit communicator called himself Vladimir Vissotski and I "heard" and
"felt" the lyrics by typing them into my computer directly, line by line,
word by word in the Russian language. The receiving time has varied from
five minutes to one hour. For comparison -- the translation of the poem
Seraphim, Unfold Your Wings that
was received in 5 minutes, took two days. Minotaur,
the poem dedicated to the perished crew of the sub Kursk, was received
during one entire hour, but its translation took a week. Every time a poem came through, it was perceived by me as an unexplainable miracle. I couldn't believe what I was getting. I am 66 years old, and so far during my long life on earth I haven't written a single line of poetry. For me it is a reason to be sure that the following poems were not coming from me, to say the least. Some of them speak about events that had happened in Russia AFTER the poet's death in 1980. For instance, Russians, the 3rd Class' Passengers speaks about the poor Russian passengers that are flooding every airport and railway station of the Western world. This phenomenon simply did not exist in the '60s and '70s, when Russians were still kept behind the iron curtain. And only some selected and trusted citizens could go abroad after receiving special permission from the government to leave the country for a counted number of days. Yes, it all sounded like proof that I could hear the dead poet's spirit voice, but I still needed some assurance, an accountable and objective opinion. So I mailed a timeless poem that could have been written at any time to Vissotski's longtime Moscow friend and stage partner who we would call L.M. She loves and understands poetry. Introducing Russian poetry around the world, she has performed/read it on various stages, including UCLA in Los Angeles. She answered, "Yes, it is Vladimir Vissotski's poem," and continued by asking, "Where did you find it, probably on the Internet? You know, there are silly rumors that he still writes poetry and sends it down through the mediums." I wrote her back that the poem in question was received 'out of the blue,' mediumistically. There was a long silence. I thought I lost L.M. for good. Six months later I received a brief letter, mostly about the weather in Moscow. She doesn't believe in afterlife and she is entitled to her own opinion. But she did not take back her words that she recognized the unmistakable style of the Russian 'king,' Vladimir Vissotski, in the poem that was sent from the other dimension and typed into a computer in Costa Mesa, California. The
following is the English translation of poems that have been received
in the Russian language. Channeled Vissotski Vladimir
Vissotski: The following poem is dedicated to Elvis Presley, the great
American singer, whom I didn't meet on earth. In our world, the divine
reverberation of his songs has already opened the doors of the Milano
Opera House for him. Over there they already miss him, and count their
losses because of his absence…
Dedicated
to Elvis Presley
You, Elvis, made it through your life almost by the rules Elvis,
the idol of gentle elves, a giant in the country of Lilliputians Why
don't you sleep peacefully? Don't
suffer the Russian anguish, While
walking the earth, we loved too much, and you will pay So
long, king. Glad, I met you. While typing this poem, I had the strangest vision that the American king was crying. In his white and glittering overalls he was sitting in an empty theatrical hall at the edge of a stage, on the floor, staring into the empty orchestra pit, and crying. Why was he crying? There was a woman watching over him -- maybe his guardian angel, or his mother, or an entity who preferred to stay incognito and keep a modest, daily look -- no wings, no jewelry -- rather a working woman with a strong will and grounded outlook. She kept her distance and helped the King accept his situation -- whatever it was, or whatever it contained… Comments: I was overworked, and felt weary, grieving over my unfinished manuscript. I had to work harder, but all I felt was lack of energy and pity toward myself. This was how I felt on June 6, when suddenly I heard the energetic voice of Vissotski, and I started to type the following poem on my computer. God Has Forgotten and Angels don't Care With
a ram you breached the way into unknown
Suddenly, a spring shoots through the sand Please, write L.M. a letter. Write her about everything, she is confused… July
28, 2000 Dropping a tear into the reservoir of misfortune of humanity she will shrug off the ashes of nonexistence and step into a silvery reverberation of much more advanced worlds. I envy her. A Glance at the Russia, the Country of Citizens Turned into 3rd Class Passengers who are Flooding the Railway Stations of Europe, Asia and America. In
order to say good-bye to the present time, and crawl into the future Not
the Communist one, but very orthodox and arrogant one The time of quiet and peaceful observations of the life around you is gone. Readers are loaded by emotions because everyone, and the Americans as well, are entering a time of self-discovery -- we, the humans, will learn who we really are. It is a very painful process, and it leads to explosions. Explosions will materialize all over the world, in Russia and America as well. March
29,00 No tears… We…. A
human picks a wild trail Seraphim, unfold your wings to cover that last and the first -- all in one! Seraphim,
why is your glance so piercing?
Seraphim, you better cover that human on his mission And
don't judge us, as you teach us not to judge others. September
6, 2000 Minotaur* Dedicated to the Crew of Perished Sub Kursk The
days of earth are counted
I am sad today, and I am looking for Theseus**.
The cosmic Minotaur rubs his leg-hands anticipating
a feast of the feasts and stretches his rheumatic joints for a dance macabre.
_______________ A Note The experience with channeling "Minotaur" points to a strong bond that spirit communicator builds before the channeling becomes possible. At a time of channeling I read Joseph Campbell's "The Hero with a Thousand Faces" and had a discussion regarding ancient bull cult on Crete island with a friend. August 12, 2000 the giant Russian nuclear submarine Kursk sank in Barents Sea. Three weeks later, I channeled an allegorical poem Minotaur by Vladimir Vissotski, in which the Kursk crew is compared to the youth that has been fed to the insatiable Minotaur and the rescuer and bull-slayer Theseus was nowhere to be found. In this poem, submarine Kursk disaster is perceived as part of earth's growing misery that may end in a dance macabre and a feast of the feasts of all kind of Minotaurs. I know that this poem is not coming from me -- because it cannot come from me -- but I know also that spirit communicator used some symbols that were 'handy' in my... Sorry, where -- in my mind, 'short-term memory file,' consciousness, awareness, field, aura - you name it? And spirit communicator came up with a splendid improvisation by making these symbols speak about an actual tragedy that occurred in real life.
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