Listened to Vysotsky on papa's birthday, went to Vagankovskoe Cemetery today (Jan. 25), on Vysotsky's birthday. It wasn't the same as last year, but it wasn't the birthday then, I went a few days earlier, when few people were there. I made it there somewhat late today, and there were too many drunks around by then, and the scene reminded me of a train station a bit, a crazy balagan, and the weather was ugly, and the cemetery is having some repairs and is messy - but still, it was a moving experience. Though not as moving as on July 25, 2005, the 25th anniversary of Vysotsky's death. And not as comforting as last year.













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And here's the balagan part...



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There was one guy in the crowd I wish I had some footage of, but I don't. A tiny guy with Down syndrome, who stood just outside Vysotsky's plot and recited Vysotsky's songs as if they were his own poetry, one after another, in a voice that had nothing in common with Vysotsky's, except for the pained intensity.

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Here's some real Vysotsky:



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And here's a Russian-language piece on Vysotsky's Kyiv roots (I've doubts about some of the dates mentioned in this piece, but it's an interesting read anyway).

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Because of all the construction, it was hard to get through to Rufina Nifontova's grave this year, but I did succeed eventually:





Nifontova was my father's very dear friend, and there are many good things I can write about her. She was one of the two people who called us right after Chernobyl and told my parents to bring me over to Moscow - which they did - and for this I'm forever grateful to her. Here's a picture of her and my mother (taken sometime in the early 1970s):