Shostakovich’s Symphony #13 was composed in 1962. It was written for bass soloist, bass chorus, and large orchestra. It consists of five movements, each a setting of a poem by Yevgeny Yevtushenko. Commonly called the Babi Yar Symphony after the first poem set to music, it resembles a dramatic cantata more than a symphony. But Shostakovich said it was a symphony and who am I to argue with a genius?
The ‘Babi Yar’ poem is the first movement. It is an adagio that memorializes the 1941 massacre of Ukrainian Jews by the Nazis at Babi Yar making it into a denunciation of anti-semitism in all its forms. The Soviet’s refusal to put a marker of any kind at the site is mentioned in the first line of the poem. Shostakovich turns the poem into a series of episodes invoking the Dreyfus affair, the Bialysock pogrom of 1906, and the story of Anne Frank. The movement is full of word painting and is almost operatic. An English translation of the poem is at the end of this article.
The second movement is entitled ‘Humour’. It quotes from the third of Six Romances on Verses by British Poets by Yevtushenko. It denounces the vain attempts of tyrants to suppress wit. The music is typical of the composer’s unique sardonic style.
The third movement is an adagio as is the first. Entitled ‘In the Store’, it is a lament about Soviet women queuing in a store. The composer’s empathy with the hardships of life in the Soviet Union is very moving.
Movement four is ‘Fears’. It is about the general suppression in the Soviet Union. It uses a variety of styles to depict its message including a parody of the Soviet marching song ‘Bravely, comrades, march to step’.
The final movement ‘Careers’ is an attack on bureaucrats. There are sarcastic comments by the bassoons and short squeaks by the trumpets. There are more purely orchestral passages than in the preceding movements. The symphony ends softly with a celesta playing similar to the ending of the composer’s 4th Symphony.
The work is a somber and intense composition, that masterpiece though it is, will never have the popularity of some of Shostakovich’s more flashy pieces. But if you admire the great Russian composer you should not miss a live performance of this symphony should one be nearby. A complete performance of Babi Yar brilliantly conducted by Valery Gergiev is below.
The Symphony had trouble from the start. The government hated it. Yvetushenko was forced to change some of the lines. Musicians were reluctant to perform it. The were very few performances of the work. A copy of the score with the original text was smuggled to the West, where it was premiered and recorded in January 1970 by the Philadelphia Orchestra under Eugene Ormandy.
BABI YAR
By Yevgeni Yevtushenko
Translated by Benjamin Okopnik, 10/96
No monument stands over Babi Yar.
A steep cliff only, like the rudest headstone.
I am afraid.
Today, I am as old
As the entire Jewish race itself.
I see myself an ancient Israelite.
I wander o’er the roads of ancient Egypt
And here, upon the cross, I perish, tortured
And even now, I bear the marks of nails.
It seems to me that Dreyfus is myself. *1*
The Philistines betrayed me – and now judge.
I’m in a cage. Surrounded and trapped,
I’m persecuted, spat on, slandered, and
The dainty dollies in their Brussels frills
Squeal, as they stab umbrellas at my face.
I see myself a boy in Belostok *2*
Blood spills, and runs upon the floors,
The chiefs of bar and pub rage unimpeded
And reek of vodka and of onion, half and half.
I’m thrown back by a boot, I have no strength left,
In vain I beg the rabble of pogrom,
To jeers of “Kill the Jews, and save our Russia!”
My mother’s being beaten by a clerk.
O, Russia of my heart, I know that you
Are international, by inner nature.
But often those whose hands are steeped in filth
Abused your purest name, in name of hatred.
I know the kindness of my native land.
How vile, that without the slightest quiver
The antisemites have proclaimed themselves
The “Union of the Russian People!”
It seems to me that I am Anna Frank,
Transparent, as the thinnest branch in April,
And I’m in love, and have no need of phrases,
But only that we gaze into each other’s eyes.
How little one can see, or even sense!
Leaves are forbidden, so is sky,
But much is still allowed – very gently
In darkened rooms each other to embrace.
-“They come!”
-“No, fear not – those are sounds
Of spring itself. She’s coming soon.
Quickly, your lips!”
-“They break the door!”
-“No, river ice is breaking…”
Wild grasses rustle over Babi Yar,
The trees look sternly, as if passing judgement.
Here, silently, all screams, and, hat in hand,
I feel my hair changing shade to gray.
And I myself, like one long soundless scream
Above the thousands of thousands interred,
I’m every old man executed here,
As I am every child murdered here.
No fiber of my body will forget this.
May “Internationale” thunder and ring *3*
When, for all time, is buried and forgotten
The last of antisemites on this earth.
There is no Jewish blood that’s blood of mine,
But, hated with a passion that’s corrosive
Am I by antisemites like a Jew.
And that is why I call myself a Russian!
