The call of white cranes

They told me: When our President was in Japan Japanese children sang the song «The Cranes» in honour of the distinguished guest. I heard this song fifteen years ago it was performed by choir «The Singing Voices of Japan» at the cinema «Russia» in Moscow. I wrote the song in 1965 in Hiroshima. Much is written about the tragedy of this city. I also laid a wreath of my mournful poems to the monument to the victims of the great tragedy of the century; 1 wrote a poem «The Bell of Hiroshima» which daily rings of those who perished; I wrote about the piano of Hiroshima the keys of which played in me a horrible music of human tragedy; I wrote of the Hiroshima clock which stopped forever at 8.15 a.m. in August of 1945 and other poems.
But the song «White Cranes» is specific and peculiar. It's more than a poem, it has become a vital phenomenon, if not event. Nowadays this song acquires a new sounding, significance and importance.
We often adhere to something that is grandiose and large scale, something like motto and rapture but not meditation. We even make death and tragedy optimistic, aspiring some «radiant future».
While being a student of the Institute of Literature in Moscow 1 stood in meditation looking at the monument to the author of «The Dead Souls» and «The Inspector» surrounded by the heroes of his books. Later on appeared another new «rushing» forward Gogol. As for the monument to Pushkin on the Tver square everybody was accustomed to it, each of us had his own Pushkin. But somehow he was removed to a new place as if he were more comfortable on the square close to the newspaper «Izvestia». Cars and buses blocked the way to it and the meeting noise interfered with my listening to him. I had a rare chance to tell him: «Hello, Pushkin».
Our competitions for the best designs of the monument «Victory» as well as the competitions for the best anthems and state emblems yield no results, because art is something which is natural, it's not a parade but solitude. It is like Love. There can't be competition in Love and Grief. Our monuments to all the heroes are on bronze horses as if they are preparing for races. We are used to see the monuments to famous men, to leaders, tzars, military men who are liberators for some people and invaders for others: for instance, General Skobelev is a liberator for Bulgarians but he is an invader for Central Asia. General Yermolov is a hero of Patriotic War of 1812 but for the Chechens and Daghestan people he is a man who said: «l shan't feel calm until 1 saw the last scarecrow of the mountaineer in Stavropol museum».
High in Gunib there is a stone inscription: «Here was sitting Prince Field-Marshal Baryatynsky receiving the prisoned Shamil». When I was there with Alexandre Triphonovitch Tvardovsky he asked: «Where is the monument to Shamil»? Despite the people's memory there was not such a monument on his Motherland». I think that monuments as well as songs and holidays must not separate but unite people. I saw such kind of monuments in many cities of the world. I'll be no less moved by the monument to nameless mothers than by the monument to nameless soldiers. I saw them quite frequently in the mountains of Latin America, where annually is celebrated Mother's Day. I suggested this idea in «Comsomolskaya Pravda» and in «Pravda» («The Truth»). I turned to the Committee of Soviet Women with request to take the initiative in this noble cause. I expressed readiness to contribute to it, but, alas, the Committee didn't react to my request.
Meanwhile this holiday of Mother is celebrated in some republics on their own initiative.
But we should have announced all national Mother's Day and erect the monument to which sons and grandfathers, soldiers and poets could lay flowers and wreaths. When I saw the design of the monument to a common Japanese girl with a crane in hands, when I learnt about her tragic story I was deeply impressed and this impression gave birth to poems. They were written before «The White Cranes».The latter were written later on but in Hiroshima. The thing is that when mourning the Japanese women wear white attire but not black as in our country. It was rather impressive; thousands and thousands of women in white attire standing before the monument to the girl with a white crane. In hospital she was to cut them of paper — a thousand of them dist — hoping to recover, to survive but she died before she managed to cut these cranes. And while I was standing there, in this crowd of human grief, in the sky there appeared suddenly a flock of real cranes.
They said as if cranes came from Siberia, the flock was small and in this flock I noticed some space. The cranes from our Motherland in Japanese sky, where in August of 1945 Americans dropped an atom bomb.
Just at that very moment I was handled a telegram from our embassy informing me of my mother's death. In a day I left Japan for Pakistan. From Karachi I was seen off by my friend Phaiz Ahmed Phaiz and on my way back home I was thinking of the cranes, the women in white attire, of my mother, of my perished two brothers, of ninety thousand perished Daghestanians, of twenty million (there proved to be twenty seven million of them as it is verified nowadays) who hadn't returned from the fronts, of a little doll of the girl who had died in Osventsym of whom Desanta Maximovitch wrote. I was thinking of our poets. I thought much but my thoughts again and again returned in the white cranes. I hadn't happened to write of cranes before, though as a child I watched their flight from the roof of our house and their cries excited me. But my favorite birds were mountain hawks and doves. I wrote of them in many poems, not once
But this time the cranes called me, and I wrote several variants of poems. First I didn't expect this poem to become a song. I did not foresee the reaction of people's hearts to it and the number of new unknown friends which it brought to me.
My friend Naum Grebnev made an excellent translation of the poem into Russian. He was not only a translator of the poem, he was a co-author of it. It was dearer to him than all the other poems, because he himself was a wounded soldier who had lost at the fronts many friends and relatives. It became his own ache. He said: This poem is of me and my friends». But now I am mourning him. He himself took the space in the flock of cranes. I heard much and listened much to the songs of unforgettable Mark Bernes. Once he rings me up to Makhachkala from Moscow.
Bernes sings my «Cranes». I was at loss and couldn't say anything. The song was beyond all my approvals. Then Bernes said the most essential thing: «Rasul, do you mind my changing the word «djigits» for the word «soldiers»?»
It seemed to me that the word «djigit» gives a national colouring to the poem. But here I realized the all-human keynote of the word, by this single word «the soldiers» I acquired much more.
The song became not only Daghestan, Caucasian, but Russian as well as Soviet and belonging to the whole humanity. Bernes asked me to reduce some lines of the poem for the singing version. I was reluctant to do it, but Bernes proved their «architectural» excess. He said that everybody could reduce weak stanzas but a true poet would like to reduce good stanzas for the sake of entity of his literary work. I didn't, and I left the text of the song though in some editions it is wholly published.
As for the song it became the hymn of the memory of those who perished at the fronts. It was lucky because the first to perform it was Mark Bernes. But it was a pity that he was seriously ill. And soon at the funerals, according to his will, while being cremated, this song was performed.
Bernes' services in creating this song are so great that many of my friends asked me to devote the song «The White Cranes» to his memory. After some meditation I agreed and they began singing this song on the national radio broadcasting and the song was devoted to Bernes. But I proved to be doubting in vain.
Lots of letters came to me. Thinking that the song is devoted to millions of perished soldiers the authors found it unfair to devote it to the memory of one person even if he is a deserving person, very dear to you.
«This song is not only yours but our common one, it is not only a phenomenon in poetry but in life» — this is what many people wrote me. Similar letters came to the editorial office too.
«You should consult on this point both with the dead and the alive» and it would have been strange if his poem-song «The Enemies burnt down my hut» Isakovsky devoted to a composer or a singer».
«How can you devote the song «The Day of Victory» or the poems «I was killed at Rzhev» or «He was buried in the Earth Ball» to a separate person even if he were a genius». «Bernes himself wouldn't accept it» — was written in the letters.
Further on the song was performed without devotion. It was performed by all the best national singers and abroad as well.
But nobody did it better than Bernes. His soul was incomparable. He was unsurpassed in performing the song.
I was lucky to meet such a composer as Yan Frenkel. It was he whom Bernes addresses asking to compose music to this poem.
And he, being a soldier, a musician who passed all through the war, did it wonderfully. It was not so lucky of the composer but the victory of the talent, the unerring exactness of comprehension and reproduction of the aspirations of the soul, and the heart. This song-prayer contributed to our hearty and sincere friendship. He came with this song to Daghestan, was a guest in many homes of my people, we marched with this song along the road of Motherland and European countries. But he died failing to sing his favourite song to the end. But his melody and the words turned to him remained with us. The song never dies, it was sung and is being sung.
The song «The Cranes» has a specific fate. There are films made on this song. There are monuments erected to it.
There are scores of them both in Russian cities and in the Ukraine, in Daghestan villages, in the Caucasus, in Uzbekistan, in Altay. There are eternal fires at the foot of the monuments-they are the hearts of the perished and at the very peak of flock of cranes there is the soul of the perished. Every year on the 22-nd of June which is the day of unleashing the war or on the 9-th of May, Victory Day, or on the 6-th of August, the day of Hiroshima catastrophe, people rally to pay tribute to the memory of the perished.
But the essential thing is not this because people as well as cranes came and leave. As for these cranes, they see off one people and meet the others. They don't seek for the warmer countries. They don't get spoilt while being repeated. And many people who don't sing preserved them in their hearts as prayers. It was «realized» by some old Bolsheviks who wrote letters to the Central Committee and to me as well asking to prohibit this song, alleging that it might be used by religious leaders in the churches and mosques and in ordinary life as well.
I must say that there was no stagnation for this song at the stagnation period. Despite the orthodox displeasure Brezhnev said: «It can be performed, but not too frequently. I don't want to be performed frequently, on no proper occasion. I don't want people to dance to it. I should have given much to prevent it, but it is not in my power to do it. I'm no longer a master of this song, I'm only the author of the poem. Besides, my «Cranes» don't belong to any party faction, trend, group or union. We have diminished, reduced and vulgarized the height, depth and eternity of the life soul of the poetry as it is, due to the demands of Party principles.
My «Cranes» don't belong to any religion, any nation, any generation, time, system or social sphere.
At the same time this song doesn't denounce but asseverates Man of all nations, all beliefs, all generations and all times.
I shan't say that I meant it initially. On the contrary, the words of the song had concrete addressee, millions of people who perished on battle fields of the Great Patriotic War.
I don't deny it now but confirm. At the same time the experience of the passed years and the changes which took place after the song widened its space, made find and think of new addressees of its poetic message. The fact is that some years ago I got an unusual parcel from American children. There were a thousand of paper cranes which the Japanese girl failed to cut. The American children expressed hope for recovery of our sick world, sick age. The letter of American children and my answer were published in the newspaper. These paper cranes aroused many kind feelings in me. I thought of the fire of Friendship during the Elbe meeting of American and Soviet soldiers, of the handshakes of people of different nationalities, languages, religions; thoughts of the sacrifices made for the sake of life on the Earth, by our soldiers, especially young soldiers of all countries of America, Asia and Europe. I thought that they are my cranes as well-they are calling us all, who live on the Earth, to peace, brotherhood as we all are the God's children.
Well, I think that we all, people of different nations would have found mutual understanding sooner if we listened to the dead.
The dead aren't silent. They call each of us with their cranes' call. I came to this thought a bit late through the paths of doubt. Once an Austrian leader came to me from Vienna.
He was concerned of the preserving the memory of the perished.
He told me of his Wish to publish in the main languages of the world the book of the best poems devoted to the memory of those who perished on the battle fields. He asked my consent to include my song «The Cranes». I agreed and was sure that it would be done. But to my great disappointment it wasn't included into that book. As for the fate of the book I learnt the following: there appeared a number of people who protested against publishing the song «The Cranes» next to the poems devoted to German soldiers who died at the Western front. They considered it impossible to publish one and the same obituary to the invaders and defenders. 1 must admit that at that time I thought it impossible for my two brothers and their murderers to be next to each other. Later on when I was in Vienna I was surprised to see the sailors from our ship laying wreaths on the graves of naval officers of Austria who had fought against us in Germany; 1 saw in Western Germany our soldiers' graves being taken an equal care of as the graves of German soldiers.
But nevertheless I resented when in Germany American President Reagan laid wreaths on the graves of German soldiers who had brought so much grief and damage to my Motherland. But then I understood that they, the young, had also been the victims of deception and lie. Their lives meant for noble deeds, for love and generosity had been defined, filled with hostility and hatred to the people of their kind, the residents of the planet Earth. They had been filled with hatred to another language, other songs, another music.
And it seemed to me that the call of my cranes calls not for revenge but for forgiveness, because their mothers are also mourning. You can't prolong the life of one people at the expense of others. That's why I am sorry that I didn't publish the poems devoted to German soldiers next to the «Cranes», as they were also the victims of that bloody war. We defended the border of the country and of the land.
Now we must defend the border of the peace and kindness from colonized heads and mechanized souls of the orthodox.
It would be nice if we published the book of memory of the soldiers of all the countries, of all the times, all the religions and all the nations. We should have done much good by this requiem. All the best poets agreed to it. I hope that there will be room for the «White Cranes» as well in that book.
I expect some objections on this point. There may be questions. Where is your Patriotism, the sense of Motherland, the offence for insulted land, burnt down home? Can it disappear leaving no traces? What happened to the words «Nothing and Nobody is forgotten»? The cranes flight and their heartbreaking call was always associated with meeting and leaving the native place with the ache for Motherland and yearning for it. Giving credit to our former enemies and sometimes to suspicious friends of today don't we humiliate the dignity and glory of our fellow-citizens, of our heroic predecessors and our Motherland after all, etc, etc? Such kind of questions emerges now and then.
I used to ask myself: Isn't the flock of cranes mixed with the flock of black ravens? How can the call of the former be combined with croaking of ravens? Yes, it is quite right that ravens will never be white and they won't sing like cranes. But if we divide those who perished into ravens, cranes, sparrows and eagles (which we have done for long and enough), if each of us sees the world through the horns of their bulls then we shall never see peace on our delicate Earth.
Each of us is attached to his house and his field. But if we damage another house, another way of life and moreover if we create the image of enemy as we did it for many years it won't be patriotism in real sense of the world.
While loving my Motherland 1 admire the geniuses of the West and East. What is my pride for, it is even humiliating, if it is isolated and not confirmed by sympathies and kind feelings of the people of other countries. Each of us is responsible nowadays for the whole world. I am sure that revenge and hostility won't help. «The white Cranes» don't call for revenge. We have shed blood enough taking revenge for the past. Nothing was yielded by it but hostility. I know it as a mountain resident where vendetta was practiced for long. But there isn't any longer the more sacred law than the law of friendship. It is for them that the white cranes are calling today. They tell us not about vigilance, not of capitalist surrounding, not of all possible schemings. They say: people, we love you, be kind and sympathetic. When you are kind there is no need for vigilance. We have suffered enough because of vigilance and mistrust. It is not revenge but universal forgiveness that will save us, mutual assistance will help us to untie the bloody knots.
Once a German writer came to my village. It was Helmut Hefling who wrote a novel of my famous countryman Shamil. He was met here by the hostess of the house, the widow of my brother Mohamed, her name was Huzu. She met him not in bright smart clothes but in the mourning which she had been wearing for forty-seven years since she was twenty. Mr. Hefling begged her forgiveness and ours as well.
My friends-poets from Minsk told me that every year former soldiers of Vermacht from Germany came there and laid wreaths to the monuments for the burnt-down villages of Belarus praying and begging forgiveness of those who perished in the fire of war saying that they were too young and deceived. The Germans lay flowers to the monuments of White Cranes in Saratov, in Chernigov, in Osetia and Daghestan.
I understand the fact that our President being in the Far East laid wreaths to the graves of Japanese soldiers who were taken prisoners by Russians and died in Russia. I approve of our Presidents conduct. When he was in Prague he laid flowers on the Vratslav Square in the place where the Czech youth burnt himself in protest of intrusion of Russian tanks to Czechoslovakia in 1968. By this aggression we crossed out the feelings of gratitude of the peoples of Europe in 1945.
My white cranes are mourning after the victims of that «tender» war in Finland. I read the names of thousands who died on the walls of houses in Suomi cities. But at the same time I am deeply hurt and insulted when they defile and damage the monuments of the previous war, when real patriots and liberators, who earned recognition and gratitude of all the peoples, are called invaders and occupationists.
My cranes say: «Those who are alive, don't touch them, don't extinguish their eternal fire, come to your senses, they are not to be blamed».
These facts of vandalism, no matter where they may come from, don't do credit to anybody. We are violating the time-honoured humane traditions of spiritual interrelations of the dead and alive. It is especially painful when the graves and tombs to ordinary soldiers, unknown soldiers, whose mothers have still been shedding tears, are defiled and ruined.
The White Cranes should be invited to sit at the table of negotiations between the republics, peoples and nations. They belong to all the nations, religions, countries to the whole world. There must be no differences concerning them.
Once during the Afghan events I was sitting among my friends in a restaurant in Moscow. A message from unknown peoples was brought to me. They asked me if I was not going to write about our boys who died in Afghanistan. I answered them that my «Cranes» was about them as well though it had been written earlier, and the names of those soldiers are heard in the calls of the cranes. Yes, the white cranes are flying over all the continents calling the names of the dead. In our republic, in Azerbaijan, in Armenia, in Georgia, in Lithuania, in Fergana, in the Lebanon, in Palestine, in Chile, in Nicaragua, in Angola, in Kuwait, in Iraq, in Iran — in all the countries of the world my cranes can be heard. But it doesn't mean that my «Cranes» won't remain as a song devoted to those who perished on the battlefields during the Great Patriotic war. But in the flock of cranes there is some room for us, for each of us.
Fifteen years ago a documentary film was made on «The White Cranes». I also took part as the author of the poem. I was thoughtfully roaming among the ancient tombs of Derbent which witnessed the invasion of many conquerors where many of the soldiers of many centuries and many states were buried. I climbed the mountains outside Gunib, where many Russian soldiers are buried, where there are the graves of the soldiers of the Apsheron detachment and next to them the tombs of the Shamil murids; there are Russian birches and Daghestan palm-trees growing side by side. On one of the peaks there is erected a glorious monument to white cranes, at which Daghestanians and thousands of guests celebrate the day of tribute to the memory of those who died on the battlefields of the Great Patriotic war. I remember that initially the holiday began with Yan Frenkel's performing his song, then the song was performed by Muhamed Omarov in Avar language and poet Badrudin Magomedov performed it in Kumyk language.
But it is not what I'd like to speak of now. When there was the discussion of the film «The White Cranes» former soldiers of the Great Patriotic was were surprised at seeing me among the tombs of the soldiers of previous centuries as the ideas and the plot of my song-poem are connected with the Great Patriotic I agreed with them but at the same time I see no grounds' why not connect it with all the victims of the wars of all times. Every person has his own comprehension.
Everyone hears the call of the cranes in his own way and the tombs of previous epochs aren't the obstacle to modern songs. What were those soldiers who turned into white cranes talking about before their death? One of them must have cried «Mother«, others — «Father», still others must have cried «My sons», «My daughters», «My darling», «My Friend», «Motherland», «My life»...
They must have been calling their dearest names and native places:
They till nowadays from those far away places
Are flying and calling their names
And we, looking up into the skies
Hear their words: Protect Mothers,
Protect Children,
Protect Friends, Protect Love,
Protect the Life on Earth
They talk of heroic deeds, of glory, of love, of troublesome days of the Caucasus, of the beauty of man on the Earth, of a wonderful bliss, of the dearest, the most sacred.
They are speaking in the fever of events and we haven't forgotten them because it will help us to avoid hostility, estrangement, resentment on the Earth. They are asking those who live on our Earth. «Hasn't war any holiday? »
«Can't the bloodshed be stopped for a day at least? » This is the question that alarms everybody. That's why in many regions of our country the Day of Memory, the Day of White Cranes is celebrated. There is a special fund of «White Cranes» in my republic. Lots of people turn to me asking to publish a book of songs and poems in memory of the perished soldiers; they ask me of records, slogans, cards and etc on this theme.
As in its significance the problem concerns all countries 1 appealed to the General Secretary of UNESCO Federico Mayor with the proposal to introduce the Day of Commemoration of our Planet, the Day of tribute to Life.
If somebody fires at his earthling let his countrymen punish him by eternal disdain.
My appeal was heard and supported. Mr. Federico Mayor answered my letter, I was supported by the Soviet Foreign Minister as well.
In his letter he wrote that the Foreign Ministry will do all possible to help me. I turned to many workers of culture in this point and nobody denied the necessity of this Day of Commemoration, which I am sure, is to become an essential event of our life.
Now it is the time to pass over from words to concrete deeds. The time is calling us.

1991

		На главную страницу