Any Russian person who has ever seen the film “The Irony of Fate, or Enjoy Your Bath” knows this poem. Actually, it’s called “The Ballad of a Smoky Car,” but most often it is remembered by the very line that I wrote in the title of the post.
I am not a passionate lover of poetry - not even the most talented one. But there are poems that sink into the soul so much that it is impossible to be indifferent to them. One of them is “The Ballad of a Smoky Car” by Alexander Kochetkov.
Here is the story of how it was written.
First, the poem itself.
BALLAD OF A SMOKY CAR
- How painful, dear, how strange,
Connected in the ground, intertwined with branches, -
How painful, honey, how strange
Split under the saw.
The wound on the heart will not heal,
Will shed pure tears,
The wound on the heart will not heal -
It will spill with fiery resin.
– As long as I’m alive, I’ll be with you –
Soul and blood are indivisible, -
As long as I'm alive, I'll be with you -
Love and death are always together.
You will carry it with you everywhere -
You will carry with you, my love, -
You will carry it with you everywhere
Native land, sweet home.
- But if I have nothing to hide with
From incurable pity,
But if I have nothing to hide with
From the cold and darkness?
- After parting there will be a meeting,
Don't forget me, darling,
After parting there will be a meeting,
Let's both come back - you and me.
- But if I disappear into obscurity -
Short daylight beam -
But if I disappear into obscurity
Beyond the star belt, into the milky smoke?
- I will pray for you,
So as not to forget the earthly path,
I will pray for you,
May you return unharmed.
Shaking in a smoky carriage,
He became homeless and humble,
Shaking in a smoky carriage,
He was half crying, half sleeping,
Suddenly he bent with a terrible list,
When the train is on a slippery slope
The wheels were torn off the rails.
Superhuman strength
In one winepress, crippling everyone,
Superhuman strength
She threw earthly things off the ground.
And didn't protect anyone
The promised meeting in the distance,
And didn't protect anyone
A hand calling in the distance.
Don't be separated from your loved ones!
Don't be separated from your loved ones!
Don't be separated from your loved ones!
Grow into them with all your blood, -
And every time say goodbye forever!
And every time say goodbye forever!
When you leave for a moment!
It was a complete surprise for me to find out when the poem was written - in what terrible period of Russian history. And here is an excerpt from the article Lev Ozerov about the history of writing the ballad.
————————————————————————————–
The history of the appearance of “Ballad” is told by the poet’s wife Nina Grigorievna Prozriteleva in notes left after her death and still unpublished:
“We spent the summer of 1932 in Stavropol with my father. In the fall, Alexander Sergeevich left earlier, I was supposed to come to Moscow later. The ticket had already been purchased - the Stavropol branch to the Kavkazskaya station, there for the direct train Sochi - Moscow. It was difficult to leave, and we put it off as long as we could. On the eve of departure, we decided to sell the ticket and delay departure for at least three days. These same days are a gift of fate - to experience them as a continuous holiday.
The reprieve was over, it was necessary to go. A ticket was bought again, and Alexander Sergeevich left. A letter from him from Kavkazskaya station illustrates the mood in which he was traveling. (In this letter there is an expression “half sad, half asleep.” In the poem - “half crying, half asleep.”)
In Moscow, among friends whom he informed about the first day of his arrival, his appearance was accepted as a miracle of resurrection, since he was considered dead in a terrible crash that occurred with a Sochi train at the Moskva-tovarnaya station. Acquaintances who were returning from a Sochi sanatorium died. Alexander Sergeevich escaped death because he sold a ticket for this train and stayed in Stavropol.
In the first letter that I received from Alexander Sergeevich from Moscow, there was a poem “Wagon” (“The Ballad of a Smoky Wagon”)…”
Protected by fate from the train crash that happened the day before, the poet could not help but think about the nature of chance in human life, about the meaning of meeting and separation, about the fate of two beings who love each other.
This is how we find out the date of writing - 1932 - and the dramatic history of the poem, which was published thirty-four years later. But even unpublished, it in an oral version, passed from one person to another, received enormous publicity. I heard it during the war, and to me (and many of my friends) it seemed written at the front. This poem became my property - I never parted with it. It became one of my favorites.
The first person who told me the history of “The Ballad of a Smoky Car” was A. S. Kochetkov’s friend, the late writer Viktor Stanislavovich Vitkovich. In the winter of 1942, a participant in the defense of Sevastopol, writer Leonid Solovyov, author of an excellent book about Khoja Nasreddin “Troublemaker,” came to Tashkent. At that time, Yakov Protazanov was filming the film “Nasreddin in Bukhara” in Tashkent, based on the script by Solovyov and Vitkovich. Vitkovich brought Solovyov to Kochetkov, who was then living in Tashkent. It was then that Soloviev heard “The Ballad of a Smoky Car” from the author’s lips. He really liked her. Moreover, he fanatically fell in love with this poem and took the text with him. It seemed like it had just been written. This is how everyone around him perceived him (and Solovyov - at that time a correspondent for the Red Fleet - read the poem to everyone he met). And it not only captivated the listeners - it became a necessity for them. It was rewritten and sent in letters as news, consolation, and prayer. In lists, various versions (even mutilated), it circulated on the fronts, often without the name of the author, as a folk one.
“The Ballad of a Smoky Car” was first published by me (with an introductory note about the poet) in the collection “Poetry Day” (1966). Then “Ballad” was included in the anthology “Song of Love” (1967), published in “Moskovsky Komsomolets” and since then more and more often and more willingly included in various collections and anthologies. The stanzas of the “Ballad” are taken by the authors as epigraphs: a line from the “Ballad” became the title of A. Volodin’s play “Don’t Part With Your Loved Ones,” readers include the “Ballad” in their repertoire. It was also included in Eldar Ryazanov’s film “The Irony of Fate...” We can say with confidence: it has become a textbook.
This is about the poem.
Now about the author, about Alexander Sergeevich Kochetkov. In 1974, the publishing house “Soviet Writer” published his largest work, the drama in verse “Nicolaus Copernicus,” as a separate book. Two of his one-act poetic plays were published: “The Head of Homer” - about Rembrandt (in “Smena”) and “Adelaide Grabbe” - about Beethoven (in “Pamir”). Cycles of lyric poems were published in “Poetry Day”, “Pamir”, “Literary Georgia”. That's all for now. The rest (very valuable) part of the heritage (lyrics, poems, dramas in verse, translations) still remains the property of the archive...
Alexander Sergeevich Kochetkov is the same age as our century.
After graduating from the Losinoostrovskaya gymnasium in 1917, he entered the philological faculty of Moscow State University. Soon he was mobilized into the Red Army. The years 1918-1919 are the poet’s army years. Then, at different times, he worked either as a librarian in the North Caucasus, or at the International Organization for Assistance to Fighters of the Revolution, or as a literary consultant. And always, in all the most difficult circumstances of life, work on the poem continued. Kochetkov began writing early - at the age of fourteen.
His masterful translations are well known. As the author of original works, Alexander Kochetkov is little known to our readers. Meanwhile, his play in verse about Copernicus was performed in the theater of the Moscow Planetarium (there was such a very popular theater). Meanwhile, in collaboration with Konstantin Lipskerov and Sergei Shervinsky, he wrote two plays in verse, which were staged and enjoyed success. The first is “Nadezhda Durova”, staged by Yu. Zavadsky long before A. Gladkov’s play “A Long Time Ago” - on the same topic. The second is “Free Flemings”. Both plays enrich our understanding of the poetic dramaturgy of the pre-war years. When the name of Alexander Kochetkov is mentioned, even among ardent lovers of poetry, one will say:
– Oh, he translated “The Magic Horn” by Arnimo and Brentano?!
“Excuse me, it was he who gave the classic translation of Bruno Frank’s story about Cervantes!” adds another.
“Oh, he translated Hafiz, Anvari, Farrukha, Unsari and other creators of the poetic East!” exclaims a third.
“And translations of works by Schiller, Corneille, Racine, Beranger, Georgian, Lithuanian, Estonian poets!” the fourth will note.
– Let’s not forget Antal Gidash and Es-habib Vafa, a whole book of his poems, and participation in the translations of large epic paintings – “David of Sassoun”, “Alpamysh”, “Kalevipoeg”! - the fifth one will not fail to mention.
Thus, interrupting and complementing each other, poetry connoisseurs will remember Kochetkov the translator, who devoted so much effort and talent to the high art of poetic translation.
Alexander Kochetkov worked enthusiastically on poetry until his death (1953). He seemed to me one of the last students of some old school of painting, the keeper of its secrets, ready to pass on these secrets to others. But few people were interested in these secrets, like the art of inlay, making lionfish, cylinders and phaetons. An astrologer, he adored Copernicus. A music lover, he recreated the image of the deaf Beethoven. A painter in a word, he turned to the experience of the great beggar Rembrandt.
Behind Kochetkov's works, their creator appears - a man of great kindness and honesty. He had the gift of compassion for the misfortune of others. He constantly took care of old women and cats. “Such an eccentric!” - others will say. But he was an artist in everything. He didn’t have any money, and if he did, it immediately migrated under the pillows of the sick and into the empty wallets of the needy.
He was helpless regarding the fate of his works. I was embarrassed to take them to the editor. And if he did, he was embarrassed to come for an answer. I was afraid of rudeness and tactlessness.
To this day we are greatly indebted to the memory of Alexander Kochetkov. It has not yet been fully shown to the reading public. It is hoped that this will be done in the coming years.
I want to briefly outline his appearance. He had long, combed back hair. He was easy in his movements, these movements themselves betrayed the character of a man whose actions were guided by internal plasticity. He had a gait that you rarely see now: melodic, helpful, and there was something very old about it. He had a cane, and he carried it gallantly, in a secular manner, one could feel the last century, and the cane itself seemed to be ancient, from the time of Griboedov.
A continuator of the classical traditions of Russian verse, Alexander Kochetkov seemed to some poets and critics of the thirties and forties to be a kind of archaist. What was good and solid was mistaken for what was backward and callous. But he was neither a copyist nor a restorer. He worked in the shadows and in the depths. People close to him appreciated him. This applies, first of all, to Sergei Shervinsky, Pavel Antokolsky, Arseny Tarkovsky, Vladimir Derzhavin, Viktor Vitkovich, Lev Gornung, Nina Zbrueva, Ksenia Nekrasova and some others. He was noticed and noted by Vyacheslav Ivanov. Moreover: it was a friendship between two Russian poets - the older generation and the younger generation. Anna Akhmatova treated Kochetkov with interest and friendly attention.
For the first time I saw and heard Alexander Sergeevich Kochetkov in Khoromny cul-de-sac in the apartment of Vera Zvyagintseva. I remember that Klara Arseneva, Maria Petrovykh, and Vladimir Lyubin were with us then. We heard poems read softly and sincerely by the author, whom I really liked. That evening he heard many kind words addressed to him, but he looked as if all this was being said not about him, but about some other poet who deserved praise to a greater extent than himself.
He was welcoming and friendly. No matter how sad or tired he was, his interlocutor did not feel it.
The interlocutor saw in front of him, next to him, a sweet, sincere, sensitive person.
Even in a state of illness, lack of sleep, need, even at a time of legitimate resentment at the inattention of editors and publishing houses, Alexander Sergeevich did everything to ensure that this state was not transmitted to his interlocutor or companion, so that it would be easy for him. It was with such ease coming from the soul that he one day turned to me and, gently tapping his cane on the asphalt, said:
– I have one composition, imagine – a drama in verse. Wouldn't it be difficult for you to get acquainted - at least briefly - with this work? There is no hurry, when you say and if you can...
So, in 1950, the dramatic poem “Nicolaus Copernicus” came to me.
Starting with the history of one poem (“The Ballad of a Smoky Car”), I turned to its author and his story.
From one poem a thread stretches to other works, to the personality of the poet, whom he loved so much and became a close friend and interlocutor for him.
This book of selected works by the poet represents different genres of his work: lyrics, dramatic short stories (as A. S. Kochetkov himself called them), poems.
In working on the book, I used the advice and archives of the poet’s friends - V. S. Vitkovich and L. V. Gornung, who, among other things, gave me the photograph he took of Alexander Kochetkov, which is included in this book. I offer them my gratitude.
people shared
Lyrics of the song Mikael Tariverdiev and Anna Akhmatova - Don’t part with your loved ones and say goodbye forever when you leave for a moment!
How painful, honey, how strange,
Akin to the ground, intertwined with branches -
How painful, honey, how strange
Split under the saw.
The wound on the heart will not heal,
Will shed pure tears,
The wound on the heart will not heal -
It will spill with fiery resin.
- As long as I'm alive, I'll be with you -
Soul and blood are indivisible, -
As long as I'm alive, I'll be with you -
Love and death are always together.
You will carry with you, my love,
You will carry it with you everywhere,
You will carry it with you everywhere
Native land, sweet home.
But if I have nothing to hide with
From incurable pity,
But if I have nothing to hide with
From the cold and darkness?
- After parting there will be a meeting,
Don't forget me, darling,
After parting there will be a meeting,
We'll both come back - you and me.
- But if I disappear into obscurity -
The short light of a daylight beam, -
But if I disappear into obscurity
For the star belt, milky smoke?
- I will pray for you,
So as not to forget the earthly path,
I will pray for you,
May you return unharmed.
Shaking in a smoky carriage,
He became homeless and humble,
Shaking in a smoky carriage,
He was half crying, half sleeping,
When the train is on a slippery slope,
Suddenly he bent with a terrible list,
When the train is on a slippery slope
The wheels were torn off the rails.
...And didn’t protect anyone
The promised meeting in the distance,
And didn't protect anyone
A hand calling in the distance...
Don't part with your loved ones,
Don't part with your loved ones,
Don't part with your loved ones,
Grow into them with all your blood, -
And every time say goodbye forever,
When you leave for a moment!
people shared
Other songs by the artist
Words and text of the song Mikael Tariverdiev and Anna Akhmatova Do not part with your loved ones and say goodbye forever when you leave for a moment! provided by the site site. Text by Mikael Tariverdiev and Anna Akhmatova Don’t part with your loved ones and say goodbye forever when you leave for a moment! found in open sources or added by our users.
Use and placement of the translation is possible only if you provide a link to the site
Listen online Mikael Tariverdiev and Anna Akhmatova Do not part with your loved ones and say goodbye forever when you leave for a moment! on Megalyrics - easy and simple. Just click the play button at the top of the page. To add to a playlist, click on the plus next to the play button. On the right side of the page there is a clip, as well as a code for embedding into the blog.
- How painful, dear, how strange,
Connected in the ground, intertwined with branches, -
How painful, honey, how strange
Split under the saw.
The wound on the heart will not heal,
Will shed pure tears,
The wound on the heart will not heal -
It will spill with fiery resin.
As long as I'm alive, I'll be with you -
Soul and blood are indivisible, -
As long as I'm alive, I'll be with you -
Love and death are always together.
You will carry it with you everywhere -
You will carry with you, my love, -
You will carry it with you everywhere
Native land, sweet home.
But if I have nothing to hide with
From incurable pity,
But if I have nothing to hide with
From the cold and darkness?
- After parting there will be a meeting,
Don't forget me, darling,
After parting there will be a meeting,
We'll both come back - you and me.
But if I disappear into obscurity -
The short light of a daylight beam, -
But if I disappear into obscurity
Beyond the star belt, into the milky smoke?
- I will pray for you,
So as not to forget the earthly path,
I will pray for you,
May you return unharmed.
Don't be separated from your loved ones!
Grow into them with all your blood, -
And every time say goodbye forever!
When you leave for a moment! (c) A. Voznesensky
James Blunt (or Emin Samedli) - Goodbye My Lover
Rufus Wainwright - Hallelujah
Westlife - Too Hard To Say Goodbye
Westlife - when a woman loves a man
Alexey Sulima and Dominic Joker - If you are with me
Westlife - No Place That Far
Thomas Anders - I Miss You
John Bon Jovi - Always
Paul Mauriat - Love Story
Your “Always” still hits your temples with a binary pulse. You promised to stay with me n-a-v-s-e-g-d-a! She gave up her family and future. Because there can be no future with me. Because with me there is all time and space, but there is no hope. I am imprinted in the past. I am just an old legend, living with pathetic legends about unlimited power and the same destruction caused by it. When you understand this, as others understood in their time, you will ask to let go... But I’m not sure if I have enough generosity.
I'm far from who you think I am. I deserve every last drop of it. Every stab of fate in the back. Every loss. Every known suffering... Every execution in the universe. Every curse, name, nickname sent after with hatred. This pain is only mine. It cannot be divided into two.
I've ruined so many other people's lives. I can't destroy yours either. I can’t give you what you want so much. Because this curse cannot be shared with anyone. Eternal exile in loneliness. And the last thing I want to do is share it with you. With your loved ones you want to share only happiness, sunny smiles, no matter how bitter they are, and the wonders of new discoveries and travels. “Together in sorrow and in joy, and until death do us part.” Death, your death, which I cannot bear. I always run away from responsibility. I run, run, run, without looking back at the past and regardless of what color is flashing at the traffic light. Everyone else sees only the soles of my shoes flashing in the distance.
But you decided to stay. I decided against everything. You didn't find Sarah-Jane's story convincing.
Rose, Rose, Rose, you can't be so stubborn.
You prudently made me promise that I would never leave you like others. Another blatant lie. You didn't see that I, like you people, crossed my fingers behind my back.
Sorry I didn't see it. You would probably hate me then, instead of...
Your decision - I will have to accept it as given, and I will also have to respect it. In any case, it's too late to change anything. The gap is closing. The wounds of the universe are healing.
You bequeathed your eternity to me, you gave me back mine, only now it doesn’t seem like a burden. Thank you. Why haven't I ever thanked you? Why didn’t you ever tell me what you really mean to me? Rose Tyler is a girl who asks a million questions a second. It is convenient to hide under the guise of friendship. This has always worked in my favor. But with you...
My techniques are apparently outdated. Just like myself. A little more and I'll break down. And then I wanted to give a damn about all the unspoken instructions, laws, catechisms of the “Eternals,” biblical commandments. I’ve been wanting to “break loose” for a long time now. Upside down. Straight to Hell. A moment of flight will be worth it, right?
I swear to Gallifrey, when this is all over, I will!
However, something is already going wrong. The lever is jammed. You notice it. And I read your intention in your eyes. You release the latch and grab the crack control lever. I'm trying to shout, to stop. Useless. Why don't you ever listen to anyone? Me especially. I... No, no, no! You will be carried away... This is a special magnet that reduces our weight. You won't be able to bear the load. The emptiness will not listen to requests to let go. As proof of my thoughts, I see how your fingers unclench limply. The dazzling white Darkness stretches out its tenacious clawed paws towards you, opening its mouth wider and wider to swallow. I don't have the strength to hold on. You slip, you fall apart. The Emptiness sucks you in. You scream - you call for help... by name. Stupid name. After all, no other “Doctor” in the universe has hurt others more than I have...
Injustice was born before this world.
Like all his vices in essence.
The moment freezes. This horror in the eyes. Even nanoseconds are tangible.
Everything freezes in me like a concrete grip. Air in the lungs, unnecessary now. I stop breathing. What a pity that I can’t die from this. Blood freezes in the veins. Hearts are tearing through the chest.
Before my eyes, only you against a snow-white background, stretching out your hands in my direction.
I scream so hard my ears are blocked. I strain my throat and can’t hear my voice. My lips involuntarily say one prayer I know - your name.
One single thought creeps out from the depths of consciousness.
“Unclench your fingers, release the fastening. What, you don't have enough strength? Are you afraid of death?
Lacks courage. Even now. I know that I still won’t last long if Rose doesn’t become... Coward!
I pray to all gods in all languages known to me. Evil, good - indiscriminately. I pray for a miracle. Not for myself. For her. For me, she is a miracle sent from above with redemption and forgiveness for sins. And I forget to think about my denial and the cult of science over faith. People, even the most inveterate skeptics, still at the very last minute, hanging by a thread, turn to someone higher for help, who is responsible for them in their opinion, and to whom they can shift the burden of responsibility off their shoulders . And sometimes they hear His answer. I've encountered this many times. Such is human nature. Even though I’m not human, maybe it will work for me too? There is nothing more to hope for.
Half a step before madness and ready to completely go crazy with despair, I see the figure of a man slowly emerging. My senses are heightened beyond belief. It's Pete. It gets in the way of Silence and unceremoniously snatches you from the captivity of inevitable Nothingness. He moved from another universe. He saves you, Rose, saves you because I couldn't. I broke another promise. Jackie, don't forgive me! I don't need this.
He takes you away. Just in time. The wall becomes just a wall again. And with this comes endless childish joy. Are you alive!
It is replaced by... a terrible, soul-burning feeling of loss.
And yet, whoever You are up there or down there, thank you. I will never erect a monument to You, I will never pray or make sacrifices in Your honor; I will never allow you to take a place in my hearts, but still, I say thank you.
In gratitude for Her, for sending Her to meet me, in gratitude for saving the lives of both of us! Thank you!
A sickly yellow beach, burnt out by thousands of my curses. An uncryed fog of dampness hangs in the air with thick melancholy. Black, slate rocks cut into the sea canvas as violently as a sharpened pencil into white paper. The sky is overturned into the sea. The unnerving sound of the waves envelops the ear; the disgusting whisper of the wind, laughing evilly over the coast, spreads for many miles around. It's probably cold there by human standards. It seems to me that the whole Universe has become colder. I'm burning the sun. This means there will be one less sun in the whole world.
It must be unbearably cold there. Freezing. The impression is that the whole world is in a fever. Rose wraps herself in her jacket and pulls the sleeves over her wrists, a cute habit. Trying to pull. Soft skin doesn't give you much. You just find something to do to kill the waiting time. “Killing time” is a funny expression. More often than not, time kills us, not we kill it.
A small trembling hits you, which I also feel under the skin. This is not from the earth's cold. From the alien cold, which has no name.
Rose looks around. Stones, a rioting sea, quagmire sand, a sky with ignoble gray streaks. You can barely stand on your feet.
I have been watching her for a long time, not daring to appear - to send a hologram. A soulless, disembodied signal. A cruel price to pay for my pride. The crack is too small. It's a miracle that this crack exists at all.
Things shouldn't be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. The mention of this thesis in the past tense painfully strikes with the awareness of the inevitability and inevitability of completion.
I hesitate shamelessly and mercilessly, cold-bloodedly making her freeze and suffer from the unknown. Farewells, forgiveness. How I don’t like this. I always tried to leave without saying goodbye... To say goodbye to her now is to admit that there will be no turning back. There is nowhere else to retreat.
Behind is a destroyed paradise, ahead is an unfinished hell.
A step back is the sharp edge of the past, a step forward is a dead end of the future. I’ll stumble and fly somewhere.
I haven’t decided yet which would be better, but definitely with my head. Although, going nowhere is also a good option.
But I must say goodbye. Mercifully let her go. Although, I wanted to tell such “condescension” to hell. So that she doesn’t wait and hope in vain. All possible miracles have already happened. There are no impossible miracles. And in order to return her or for me to return myself, just such a miracle is needed.
There are so many things I need to tell her one last time. Tell me about how I stood there, on Canary Wharf, at that marble-white and icy wall, which almost happened to become our tombstone, and, leaning my cheek against it, half-deliriously listened (I imagined that I heard your bitter sobs and blows of fists on the other side, straight from a parallel world) to a frightening silence that your voice will not break; how I sat on the floor in that hall for several hours, counting the seconds until something ghostly, until the turning point, when the aching pain of loss would go away a little and allow me to breathe. Or not - it's better to exhale. There were no tears. Fracture too. Only melancholy eating from within. Everything burned out in me. Everything was burned out as if by a laser, that surgically former light that almost swallowed you up. I can still hear the echo of your voice calling to me. And an image involuntarily appears before my eyes. If I had even the slightest chance to save you, giving up another regeneration for it - and not just regeneration, my whole life - I would unclench my fingers without hesitation.
Or talk about how, for months on end, the TARDIS and I scanned the entire universe in search of a loophole, at least some kind of passageway. A sort of “A Trip Around the World in Eighty Days” - you laughed so much at that book. How you laughed... Your laughter flowed like a healing waterfall into my soul. You knew how to laugh so much that the sun began to envy me.
We found a crack - and at that very moment everything collapsed. Once and for all. It was hit by an avalanche. All our hopes with the TARDIS (she missed you as much as I did - she missed the Bad Wolf, because he is her child) were shattered by the understanding that we could not return. They crumbled to dust, like an artifact that had been stored for a long time in a vacuum and carelessly raised into the air.
The fire went out, leaving behind smoldering embers.
I put the TARDIS on autopilot (she didn't really resist) and went to wander through its labyrinthine corridors. I just wanted to get away from everything again. From having to explain anything to yourself. From having to tell you that we won't be able to see each other again. One chance - and that only to say goodbye for an eternity. There were no thoughts, no feelings. There is only the Emptiness that broke through into this world through my hearts. It poured with poisonous despair from every hall, every room that bore the imprint of your presence.
She crept up like slanting and spider-like shadows from every dark corner, following me on my heels. And for the first time in my life, I think I was glad that I practically didn’t need to sleep.
I wanted to get lost. To forget, but not to forget.
I wandered the corridors aimlessly - hours, days, weeks, I don’t know exactly. And then he suddenly decided to climb the mountain. You don't know about this place. There is a real mountain in the depths of the TARDIS. There's always artificial snow there, but it's not even snow at all. Having climbed to the top, I sat down on a stone and cried like a child. For the first time since then, since Torchwood. The wind played along with its music. The fake blizzard also sang along. Such stories are not told to friends over whiskey. They cannot be told to anyone. Only the wind, which will be happy to tell about other people’s losses in an unspoken but understandable language to others. When the tears stopped, I continued to sit in the same place, silent and not breathing. I had no one to pretend to that “everything will be fine.” To whom should I be ashamed of my weakness? There was a vague feeling that it would not be possible to cope with this. My body, every cell, was in pain. It hurts unbearably to realize how much grief I will bring you. I have never lived up to other people's expectations. I'm not the hero of some Hollywood blockbuster. Where it all ends with a passionate kiss from the main characters. This is not all about us at all. This is about us - holding hands tightly, when one palm fits perfectly into the second, running away as fast as we can from some next enraged monster; about us is laughing until you lose your pulse, clutching each other; about us is to remain silent about the same thing; about us is to argue incessantly; about us - this is an all-consuming embrace and intoxicating warmth from being next to each other; about us is friendship and loyalty. Yes, in the end - eternal love, which has already conquered death once, is also about us. But eternity also has its limits. Our eternity lasted two years.
Everything disappeared from me. Emotions, memories, thoughts. I'm no longer airtight. I wanted so badly to let someone into me, into my life, into my soul, that I forgot that I didn’t have the right to do so.
Tell me how, remembering you then, at a height, I could hear snippets of music. Strange music, oppressive, intertwined with the cry of the wind. Weak hits on the piano keys gradually gave way to an intensifying drumbeat. It was then that I realized how crazy the Master had gone. This rhythm is the rhythm of four beats, leading to madness. Growing uncontrollable laughter. This is a terrible melody - a bitter mockery. The universe laughed in the eyes of the last time lord. I went against her laws - and she repaid me in full for my disobedience.
How I thought that I would never again hear the familiar creak of the blue booth doors opening... your barely audible steps behind me. Your eyes are not the same as they were at Canary Wharf - I will never forget them. The eyes of a real dreamer! You believed in miracles, unlike me. You believed in miracles, and I believed only in you.
How I looked at the Sun and, like a child, imagined that it was you, and that it was shining for me from behind the clouds and that it would always shine. And at night you will become the Moon and all the stars of all the universes. You will be my summer dawn and milky twilight. You were my southern dawn and will soon become the polar night.
I love you. Love love love.
Realization bursts in unceremoniously and fills me completely, to the brim. I'm drowning in it. I want to drown. And all this seems so natural and amazing to me at the same time. It was as if I knew before, but didn’t understand. And there was nothing else. And there is nothing simpler and more beautiful.
As if I always loved and waited for you alone. Through all times and spaces.
The most difficult thing remained - to report the meeting. The last non-date. We didn't even have the first one.
We had to hurry. Having calculated the modulus of absolute coagulability of matter around the crack, I learned that this loophole was gradually disappearing. If I don't make it in time, there won't be a second chance.
I couldn't think of anything better than sending you my projection in a mental image. I will dream of you and call you by name in the darkness of the velvet night, through which I will ask you to come to me. You will hear, you will definitely hear and you will come and respond. I'm so tired of this pre-dawn blue, it's time for morning to come.
I come to your dreams every night. In the world of dreams, no one can separate us. I hug you, reassure you, tell you funny stories, kiss you, touch your face with my fingertips. I am close, I will always be close, no matter what conceivable and unimaginable distances separate us. Closer than you think. I am forever the pathology of your heart, I have settled there with an incurable disease. Just look there and you will find it right away. You are sleeping and don’t know that I am awake at this time. For you this is only a half-night delirium, for me it is an insidious, captivating half-reality.
It’s just a pity that you wake up and can’t remember anything except the calling whisper. By-effect. A kind of protection against foreign penetrations into the subconscious - consciousness removes everything from memory when it turns on. But I remember everything to the smallest detail: every feeling, smell and taste of your skin, sensation - they are real, I am real - not your fantasy at all.
And I'm going to keep this one. Only for yourself! I will steal it and not share it with anyone. Even with you.
I've always been selfish, haven't I? What does "was" mean? In essence, I remain one.
And now, I’m standing in the console room and looking at you for the last time.
Everything was taken from us. Even hope.
If love is self-sacrifice, then we were sacrificed to love itself - its essence.
Enough! It's time to finish! I can't stand this much longer. The music is back again. And it is much, much louder and more powerfully pulls you out of reality. The torture dragged on. It's time to call the executioner - even if the executioner is yourself.
I turn on the energy wave transmitter, and my faded reflection slowly begins to appear. The countdown has begun. Minute fifty-nine, minute fifty-eight... And so on until zero. And then time will stop, and instead a completely different dimension of my life will appear: minus a second without her, minus two seconds without her, three, four, five...
Rose notices the faded outline of the hologram and slowly steps in my direction. She still doesn’t know about the remaining minute fifty-six, or that I’m not real.
She comes closer. It becomes at a distance - just stretch out your hand and you can touch it. Why do people always want the impossible?
How I want right now to hug you tightly, calm you down, lull you in my arms, allow myself to taste the taste of your kiss for the first time. Why is everything forbidden always sweeter?
I so wanted to take with me a completely different image of you. Carefree, cheerful, happy - a brilliant image of my ray of sunshine. Definitely not this one.
Unhealthily white skin. Under a thick layer of makeup, bruises appear under the eyes. Chapped lips with cracks - I really want to believe that these cracks appeared on them solely from the cold. You have lost weight and become slightly haggard. It only takes me half a second to look at it all up close.
Where are you? - you ask in a half whisper.
In the TARDIS, - I decide to tell her the truth. She deserves it. Let him know that I tried. - There is only one tiny crack left in the entire universe, and it is also closing. It takes a gigantic amount of energy to send this hologram here. I'm now in supernova orbit. I burn the sun just to say goodbye to you. - the last word is passed over the tongue with a hot blade.
You look like a ghost.
Her point is very fair. Non-existent. I point the screwdriver and adjust the transmission to a higher frequency so that the signal passes through the measurement boundary a little better. My image appears clearer.
Can I?.. - She comes closer and reaches out to touch. Don't encroach on an imaginary fairy tale. Let yourself be deceived one more time. Reality is a cruel thing, it will not spare anyone.
How can I understand you? With undisguised pleasure, I would lightly run my hand through your hair and bury my nose in the top of your head, but you are as incorporeal to me as I am to you. Image. As an icon for believers. If only I were one.
“I’m just a picture,” I stop her abruptly, reminding her of this.
Just a picture. There's nothing to touch, sorry Rose. This is the least for which I should ask your forgiveness. She quickly withdraws her hand. He doesn’t want to destroy at least the illusion of intimacy. Doesn't want to ruin the moment. After all, fingers will pass through without encountering an obstacle even at the atomic level.
You couldn't show up normally? - your fake funny question, but I’m not laughing at all right now.
The whole world will crack, universes will collide - some kind of justification.
It's not enough for you. I understand you perfectly. Only one thin thread of sanity is holding me back now. Stubborn, my stubborn girl. With real pleasure I once again call you “mine” to myself, unable to contain my smile.
Where are we? - I ask a reasonable question. I can't stand this silence hanging like a noose around my neck.
“In Norway,” she answers calmly: for now she has enough self-control.
Norway? Not bad - what else could I say? I look around whenever possible. Gray, empty, ugly in its soullessness coast.
We're fifty miles from Bergen. The place is called Dårlig Ulv Stranden."
Far away? - Are they here too? I squint slightly in surprise or... disgust?
Dårlig,” Rose clarifies. - In Norwegian it means “Evil”. This translates to Bad Wolf Bay,” she almost managed to smile.
Dålig Ulv Stranden. What irony? What a charm of brazen mockery. Bad Wolf Bay. My Bad Wolf. The end of everything? This time on a smaller scale. The end of my universe.
The bet with fate is lost. Even if I didn't bet on anything. Bet without conditions and rates. No compromises. No opt-out. She took me back to “Weak?”
How much time do we have? - Why do you always ask such difficult questions in the first place?
Two minutes, I’m lying. A minute and fifty. But it’s better for her not to know that I count even picoseconds in my head.
I can't think of what to say...
I see three figures in the distance against the background of a black jeep. Jackie, Pete and Mickey. Mickey? Mickey Ricky the Idiot, as I called him in the past. What is he doing here? A pang of causeless jealousy. Jealousy? Of course it is baseless. And since when did I become jealous? Apparently, I’m finally becoming human, no less. But still... I want to make everything clear.
So Mickey is still with you? - I can see in her eyes that she knows that I’m not serious about this, I’m asking for the sake of only the elementary - how do you people say it, oh yes - decency.
There are already five of us: mom, dad, Mickey... and baby
You don’t... - I can’t believe my ears. For a second I lose all composure. One heart almost stops. I don’t want to believe or understand what she said. She met someone else so quickly? What could I expect from her? I didn’t take any promises of fidelity from you. And he himself did not swear to anything. If it’s better for her, if she’s happy, then with this thought I’ll be happy too...
She laughs exhaustedly at my reaction. Well, of course, I'm an idiot, but what else can you call it?
No. Mother. It's already the third month. There will be more Tylers.
Old fool. What a fool I am. She still continues to laugh at my confusion or... insanity?
And how are you? You..? - I don't know what I should ask. Don’t I see “like her” myself?
Yes, I... I'm working in the store again,” she replies, probably the first thing that comes to mind.
Oh, okay,” I mutter something under my breath.
Shut up. No, I don't work there. There is still Torchwood on this planet, and it is still in business. I think I know a little about aliens - I'm hooked again. I bought it. You seem happy with this.
Rose Tyler is the protector of the Earth! - I am filled with pride and such tenderness that my lips are tight. Maybe you feel it? - You are dead - officially - in that world. So many people died that day, and you went missing. You are on the list of the dead. But here you are, living here, day after day. The one adventure I can never have - and that's the truth. I would so much like to stay and live my whole life with you, but I can't.
I don’t have an answer to this question for her. I improvise.
I still have the TARDIS. Old life, the last Lord... - is this what I wanted to tell her? So pretentious that it makes you sick of the cloying. IS THIS? Is this life? A journey, one continuous, endless journey to nowhere from nowhere.
Alone again... - there is such bitterness in her words. She's so worried about me. Time. Our time is running out. Rose understands this. She's been crying for a long time. I can't stand it. Do not Cry! Suns shouldn't cry. Please, Rose. Forty-four, forty-three, forty-two, forty-one. Forty... Why didn't they add such a function as an evil fit of laughter to stopwatches? It would suit them better than the loser villains from cheap science fiction comedies. Thirty nine...
I... - she’s trying to tell me something. Sobbing is disturbing. I guess exactly what it is, and I know exactly what I will have to answer her.
“I love you,” she smiles at me through her tears. Of course, my girl, of course.
“I know,” I say and try to put into these two words all the warmth, trust, tenderness, and sincerity that I am capable of. You just nod in response now.
Now she looks so defenseless, small and fragile. Doubts prevent me from remembering it, carrying these memories with me into eternity with another curse. Doubts. If I tell her this, I will forever deprive her of the chance to start a new life. If I don't say this, I'll hurt her, really hurt her. And this will also equally ruin her life by breaking her heart. But Rose will try this way, she won’t wait in vain. I will make this promise from her.
She guesses. She knows this for sure. She would have heard me then in the Dungeon of Satan... And everything that is here and now is just simple formalities. Human formalities. Traditions that are alien and incomprehensible to me. I destroyed an entire world, albeit uninhabited, but a world, a galaxy - I burned its sun to the ground. Doesn't that alone seem like proof enough to her? However, I feel that I will betray her if I don’t tell her how dear she is to me. And the worst thing is that I want to tell her myself. Indecisiveness. A strange, teasing hesitation. Very similar to the one eight hundred years ago that tormented me in front of the doors of my future, unchanged blue booth. And the one that I felt when I invited Mercy to dance for the first time - I had already forgotten how much time had passed since then, and I had even forgotten the taste of this feeling, which made everything numb inside. The two most important women in my life. And now the third... Mercy and her daughter remained forever locked on Gallifrey, which no longer exists. And I'm going to lose Rose right now. Thirteen seconds exactly... Each remaining one takes one life. A ruthless game of tag against time. It gradually wakes up in cutting crystals of seconds through your fingers. Most of all I want to ask Rose for forgiveness for all my broken promises. Because love is murder is our limit. A wise line from some earthly song. I know. I know because I know what those I leave behind become. I know who I have turned into. Love kills people. Unrequited love is doubly so. Come on, tell her, don't be a wuss! I want to shout out these words, stuck in my throat with hopelessness and despair, so loudly that the whole world, the whole universe will shake from them. After all, I’m the last time lord, damn it, and I have every right to do so. The voice doesn't work. Instead of a scream, it turns out to be an old, muttering whisper. Or not? Maybe it will seem like something secret to her?
If this is my last chance to tell you... - I hesitate for a treacherous second, - Rose Tyler, I... - she will never hear the end of the phrase.
My two minutes have expired, they have expired like oxygen runs out on submarines: you look at the scale and can’t do anything. The sentence has been signed and is slowly being carried out. There are no more Time Lords left.
There are few people who are not familiar with the lines from the poem “Don’t part with your loved ones...”, especially after the release of the movie “The Irony of Fate, or Enjoy Your Bath.” In fact, Alexander Kochetkov’s poem is called differently - “The Ballad of a Smoky Car.”
This poem has an interesting history of creation, which the poet’s wife Nina Grigorievna Prozriteleva told about in her notes. The couple spent the summer of 1932 with relatives, and Alexander Kochetkov had to leave before his wife. The ticket was purchased to Kavkazskaya station, after which it was necessary to transfer to the Sochi - Moscow train.
According to Nina Grigorievna’s recollections, the couple could not separate, and already during boarding, when the conductor asked the mourners to leave the train, Nina Grigorievna literally pulled her husband out of the carriage. It was decided to return the ticket and postpone departure for three days.
After three days, Kochetkov left and, arriving in Moscow, discovered that his friends already considered him dead in the crash that occurred with the Sochi-Moscow train. It turned out that those three days of delay saved the poet from inevitable death.
The very first letter from her husband that Nina Grigorievna received contained the poem “The Ballad of a Smoky Car.”
Everything that happened made the poet think about the role of accidents in a person’s life and about the great power of love that can protect a person from the tragic vicissitudes of fate. Despite the fact that the poem was written in 1932, it was published only 34 years later in the collection “Poetry Day”. However, even before publication, these heartfelt lines left no one indifferent and were literally passed on from mouth to mouth, just like the story of its creation itself. And after its publication, “The Ballad of a Smoky Car” began to be included in numerous collections of poems as one of the best lyrical works of that time.
Alexander Kochetkov wrote many wonderful poems, but he remained in people’s memory thanks to his “Ballad...”. More than a dozen years have passed since it was written, and the lines from this poem continue to remain the anthem of all lovers. And in any life situations, the most important thing is to always follow the poet’s order: “Don’t part with your loved ones!” And then even the inevitable will recede.
- How painful, dear, how strange,
Connected in the ground, intertwined with branches, -
How painful, honey, how strange
Split under the saw.
The wound on the heart will not heal,
Will shed pure tears,
The wound on the heart will not heal -
It will spill with fiery resin.
As long as I'm alive, I'll be with you -
Soul and blood are indivisible, -
As long as I'm alive, I'll be with you -
Love and death are always together.
You will carry it with you everywhere -
You will carry with you, my love, -
You will carry it with you everywhere
Native land, sweet home.
But if I have nothing to hide with
From incurable pity,
But if I have nothing to hide with
From the cold and darkness?
After parting there will be a meeting,
Don't forget me, darling,
After parting there will be a meeting,
We'll both come back - you and me.
But if I disappear into obscurity -
The short light of a daylight beam, -
But if I disappear into obscurity
Beyond the star belt, into the milky smoke?
I will pray for you,
So as not to forget the earthly path,
I will pray for you,
May you return unharmed.
He became homeless and humble,
Shaking in a smoky carriage,
He was half crying, half sleeping,
Suddenly he bent with a terrible list,
When the train is on a slippery slope
The wheels were torn off the rails.
Superhuman strength
In one winepress, crippling everyone,
Superhuman strength
She threw earthly things off the ground.
And didn't protect anyone
The promised meeting in the distance,
And didn't protect anyone
A hand calling in the distance.
Don't be separated from your loved ones!
Don't be separated from your loved ones!
Grow into them with all your blood, -
And every time say goodbye forever!
And every time say goodbye forever!
When you leave for a moment!
Lines from the poem “Don’t part with your loved ones!” After the release of the New Year's comedy "The Irony of Fate, or Enjoy Your Bath" they became familiar to almost everyone. This poem is called “The Ballad of a Smoky Car”, its author is Alexander Kochetkov, and the history of the poem’s appearance deserves special attention.
The story of the poem’s appearance was told in her diary by the poet’s wife, Nina Grigorievna Prozriteleva.
The couple spent the summer of 1932 with relatives, and Alexander Kochetkov had to leave before his wife. A ticket was purchased to Kavkazskaya station, after which it was necessary to transfer to the Sochi-Moscow train. According to Nina Grigorievna’s recollections, the couple could not separate, and already during boarding, when the conductor asked the mourners to leave the train, Nina Grigorievna literally rescued her husband from the carriage. It was decided to return the ticket and postpone departure for three days. After three days, Kochetkov left and, arriving in Moscow, discovered that his friends already considered him dead in the crash that occurred with the Sochi-Moscow train. It turned out that those three days of delay saved the poet from inevitable death. The very first letter from her husband that Nina Grigorievna received contained the poem “The Ballad of a Smoky Car.”
Everything that happened made the poet think about the role of accidents in a person’s life and about the great power of love that can protect a person from the tragic vicissitudes of fate. Despite the fact that the poem was written in 1932, it was published only 34 years later in the collection “Poetry Day”. However, even before publication, these heartfelt lines left no one indifferent and were literally passed on by word of mouth, like the very story of its creation. After its publication, the poem “The Ballad of a Smoky Car” began to be included in numerous collections of poems as one of the best lyrical works of that time.
Alexander Kochetkov wrote many wonderful poems, but he remained in memory thanks to his “Ballad...”. More than a dozen years have passed since the writing of “The Ballad...”, and the lines from this poem continue to remain the anthem of all lovers. And in any life’s ups and downs, the most important thing is to always follow the poet’s order: “Don’t part with your loved ones!”, and then even the inevitable will recede.
Ballad of a smoky carriage
- How painful, dear, how strange,
Connected in the ground, intertwined with branches, -
How painful, honey, how strange
Split under the saw.
The wound on the heart will not heal,
Will shed pure tears,
The wound on the heart will not heal -
It will spill with fiery resin.
As long as I'm alive, I'll be with you -
Soul and blood are indivisible, -
As long as I'm alive, I'll be with you -
Love and death are always together.
You will carry it with you everywhere -
You will carry with you, my love, -
You will carry it with you everywhere
Native land, sweet home.
But if I have nothing to hide with
From incurable pity,
But if I have nothing to hide with
From the cold and darkness?
- After parting there will be a meeting,
Don't forget me, darling,
After parting there will be a meeting,
We'll both come back - you and me.
But if I disappear into obscurity -
Short daylight beam -
But if I disappear into obscurity
Beyond the star belt, into the milky smoke?
- I will pray for you,
So as not to forget the earthly path,
I will pray for you,
May you return unharmed.
Shaking in a smoky carriage,
He became homeless and humble,
Shaking in a smoky carriage,
He was half crying, half sleeping,
Suddenly he bent with a terrible list,
When the train is on a slippery slope
The wheels were torn off the rails.
Superhuman strength
In one winepress, crippling everyone,
Superhuman strength
She threw earthly things off the ground.
And didn't protect anyone
The promised meeting in the distance,
And didn't protect anyone
A hand calling in the distance.
Grow into them with all your blood, -
And every time say goodbye forever!
And every time say goodbye forever!
When you leave for a moment!
Alexander Kochetkov, 1932.
Poetry lovers may be interested in hearing how