On June 22, 2016, the 75th anniversary of the Nazi attack on Russia, I was in Yalta, Crimea, with an American citizens’ delegation. I was asked to speak on behalf of our group at a major ceremony. It was an appropriate occasion to recite Nikolai Nekrasov’s “Giving Attention to the Horrors of War.”
I shall not forget the poignant experience of personally witnessing, and feeling, just why Nekrasov is called “the poet of Russian grief.” In the audience were several mothers, widows, best friends old enough to have experienced WWII in one way or another.
On Monday June 22, 2026, during an interview with Glenn Diesen, I was able to mark the occasion again by reciting Nekrasov’s poem. Here is an excerpt from that interview:
See the entire interview here: https://youtu.be/Xgcv0PiLJTY?si=ZGq1iF7fV8rudRmr
A fellow member of our US delegation to Crimea noticed the Diesen interview and fished out a
video he made of the occasion. For those interested, you can get some idea of the Yalta
remembrance in this video:
Poetry always loses something in translation, and my attempt, of course, is no exception. I have
tried to be literal without undue sacrifice to verse and feeling. Nevertheless, a lot is lost.
Внимая ужасам войны,
Heeding the horrors of war,
При каждой новой жертве боя
At every new victim of battle
Мне жаль не друга, не жены
I feel sorry not for his friend, nor for his wife,
Мне жаль не самого героя.
I feel sorry not even for the hero himself.
Увы! утешится жена,
Alas, the wife will be comforted,
И друга лучший друг забудет;
And best friends forget their friend;
Но где-то есть душа одна –
But somewhere there is one soul –
Она до гроба помнить будет!
Who will remember unto the grave!
Средь лицемерных наших дел
Amidst the hypocrisy of our affairs
И всякой пошлости и прозы
And all the banality and triviality
Одни я в мир подсмотрел
Unique among what I have observed in the world
Святые, искренние слезы –
Sacred, sincere tears –
То слезы бедных матерей!
The tears of poor mothers!
Им не забыть своих детей,
They do not forget their own children,
Погибших на кровавой ниве,
Who have perished on the bloody battlefield,
Как не поднять плакучей иве
Just as the weeping willow never lifts
Своих поникнувших ветвей.
Its dangling branches