This time, in our regular section, we will talk about the legendary thieves' song - "You were a prostitute." The song is known in many versions (one of them we give, in addition to more or less canonical) and was considered for a long time a work of thieves' folklore. That is to say, it was, as it were, "folk".
But later, genre researchers discovered its author. This is Mikhail Demin, a writer, a former thief in law (it turns out that there are former thieves!), Who spent many years in Stalin's camps, about which he later, in French emigration, wrote the autobiographical novel Thieves. In the same place, he gives part of the canonical text of the song. However, unfortunately, the full text of Demin could not be restored. Therefore, it can still be considered semi-demonic, semi-national.
"FATE PLAYS A BIG ROLE IN EVERYTHING"
As already mentioned, part of the song came out in the novel "Thieves". The novel is interesting. I liked the phrase from there: “In all textbooks on the history of the party, for example, Lenin’s “inkwell” is mentioned, made of bread and filled with milk. Now you will not find milk in Russian prisons anymore - not those times! “But the prisons themselves stand indestructible, they will exist forever, which means that this secret will not fade away, it will reach distant descendants and will be useful to many.”
In fact, now there is milk in prisons. But the fact that they still stand indestructibly is no question. In fact, the song is given in the book almost completely, only without the last two paragraphs. So, nevertheless, the authorship of Demin can be considered undoubted. However, the former lawyer invented the song, so to speak, not from scratch. It is based on the motif of the earlier thieves' song "Fate" ("Fate plays a big role in everything ...").
DRINKED, HEATED ...
The plot of the song is not complicated. The guy met a prostitute, in whose eyes "a drunken wind rushed about." She made him drunk with vodka, divorced him for feelings and for money. A new friend directed the "raud" to the criminal path. As they say, "went down the thieves' way."
As a result, the boy was tied up and he got "on kitsch" for many years. As usual, he longed for a new meeting and revenge. Dreams Come True. That's basically it. It should be noted that the theme "the woman is to blame for everything" is found in many classic thieves' songs. One "Murka" is worth something. There is something biblical here. If not for the curious Eve, people would still live in paradise. Such is the moral.
A LITTLE ABOUT DEMIN
It is worth saying a few words about Mikhail Demin. His real name is Georgy Evgenievich Trifonov (years of life - 1926-1984). Repeatedly sentenced to imprisonment in the camps. Since 1968 he lived in exile. Started as a poet. In the autobiographical trilogy "Thieves" (1978), "Taiga Tramp" (1978), "Red Devil" (1987) tells about the stay in the camps and exile from the point of view of a criminal. A professional criminal, thief, murderer and thug nicknamed Plague, he rewound a couple of terms, published several books of poetry, and then, having gone to relatives in Paris, he became a defector.
Stanislav Kunyaev writes about friendship with him in the first part of his book “Poetry. Fate. Russia":
“I returned to Moscow from Taishet in 1960 and began working in the Smena magazine. There I met Misha Demin, Mishanya, a round-shouldered, balding man with the manners of a professional thug, who had a whole heap of funny, obscene and sad stories connected with the life of thieves, with transit points in Siberia and the East, with Norilsk and Taishetlag. While working in Taishet, I knew that somewhere in Abakan, at the other end of the Taishet-Abakan highway under construction, there lives a poet with a mysterious and romantic fate : we were already beginning to publish in the Siberian press, we had heard about each other even before meeting in Moscow and met like old acquaintances in the corridors of the capital's magazine, where Mishan also got a job ... He was an open, contact and unceremonious person.
- Old man, hello! I heard about you in Abakan, well, let's go somewhere, we'll take one hundred and fifty for our mother Siberia!
Mishanya was a cousin of the famous writer Yuri Trifonov - their fathers, the Don Cossacks, were brothers and both, as very prominent military leaders during the Civil War, held high positions in Stalin's time, both married Jewish women ... In 1937, one was shot, the other died of heart attack.
Purposeful Yuri Trifonov in the post-war period became a writer, became one of the youngest winners of the Stalin Prize for the novel "Students" - the son of an "enemy of the people"! - and the vagabond and adventurer Mishan went along the "criminal line", but became addicted to poetry in the camps, and therefore we met in "Smena". For several years in a row, we lived the usual life of provincial poets in Moscow, asserted ourselves, frolicked, made friends, in a word, lived like people ... But it suddenly turned out that Mishan had either a Cossack or maternal cousin in Paris.
Demin, in fact, soon fled to Paris, which he really liked. An interesting fate for a person, you will not say anything.
"YOU WERE A PROSTITUTE"
You were a prostitute, I met you. You were sitting under a willow in the square. A drunken wind rushed about in your eyes, And the cigarette smoked in the wind. You came up to me with a dancing gait And an hour later she made me drunk with vodka And took possession of my heart like a ruble. After all, before you, I was not yet an urkagan, You turned a boy into an urkagan. You introduced me to the seasoning "and the revolver, The hand did not tremble to go to the" wet ". But one day they tied us all up - There were five lucky bards of us." We were fast asleep and did not know anything. wheels "" with a creak I exchanged for a prison jacket for a pea jacket. Over these eight years, I mumbled a lot of grief, And more than one hair on me shed. And here again, again we met with you. You are still the same as eight years ago, With such burning and bl... my eyes, Again you draw my gaze to you.
* Seasoning - knife.
** Ogolets - in the war and in the first post-war years, young criminals were called so; later so began to call desperate youngsters.
*** Wheels - shoes, shoes.
“YOU WERE BIKSOY. WHEN I MET YOU..."
(One of the versions)
You were biksoy when I met you, You were dragged by sailors in their port. A drunken wind rushed about in your eyes, And the cigarette smoked in your mouth. You came up to me with a dancing gait And in a thug way you said to me: "Well, let's go!" And late at night she made me drunk with vodka And took possession of my heart like a ruble. Understand me, I was not an urkagan - You made me an urkagan. You introduced me to the prison and the revolver, -. The hand did not flinch at the "wet" things. Once we scurried around the city, And you brought the frogs on the trail. My friends were sewn to the wall with bullets, And I ended up in kitschman for many years!
GREY SUIT, BOOTS WITH SCREAM...
I traded for prison robes.
For eight years, a lot of grief mumbled,
Because of you, my cheap, suffered.
And here I go again at the station,
With your burning beautiful eyes
You again draw my gaze to you.
You came up to me and immediately said so
You told me like a thug: - Well, let's go.
And late at night she gave me vodka
And took possession of my heart like a ruble.
'Cause I've never been a bully
And you made me a bully
You introduced me to raspberries and revolvers
And you brought me to prison.
That's it.
Ships came into our harbor. Perm: Book, 1996, ch. "Prison". Option line 2: "I traded for prison wards."
Composed on the motif of an earlier thieves' song "Fate" ("Fate plays a big role in everything ..."). There are a lot of options, not all of them mention "gray suit" and "boots (more often wheels) with a creak". The main plot: a girl makes a guy drunk with vodka, he becomes an urkagan, goes to a wet business and ends up in prison "for many years." Sometimes he returns and takes revenge.
Mikhail Demin in the novel "Blatnoy", written in Paris in 1969-72, calls himself the author of this song and twice depicts her singing in the Kolyma camps. The first time - in the fall of 1947 on Karpunka (quarantine barracks of the Magadan transfer) during a thieves' trial:
Gray suit, creaking wheels,
I exchanged it for a prison jacket.
(Demin M. Blatnoy. M .: Panorama, 1991. P. 249)
The second time - in the BUR (high-security barracks) of the same transfer in April 1948. The criminal Devka sings in solitary confinement, with whom Demin ended up in Kolyma in 1947:
You were a prostitute
I met you
And the cigarette smoked in the wind...
See also the song "Yellow Shoes" - a mixture of "Grey Suit" and "I met Misha at a club party".
YOU WERE A PROSTITUTE...
From the collection of Fima Zhiganets "Thieves' Lyrics", Rostov-on-Don, "Phoenix", 2001, p. 114-116.
The song is known in many variants and was considered for a long time a work of thieves' folklore. In fact, she has an author. This is Mikhail Demin, a writer, a former "legitimate thief", who spent many years in Stalin's camps, about which he later, in French emigration, wrote the autobiographical novel "Thieves". In the same place, he gives part of the "canonical text" of the song, which is used in this collection. However, Demin's full text could not be restored, and below is still a folklore version, where only a few verses can be considered the author's edition (the first and second, as well as the verse "Grey Suit").
***
You were a prostitute, I met you, (1)
You were sitting under a willow in the square.
A drunken wind rushed in your eyes
And the cigarette smoked in the wind.
And thieves invited: "Well, let's go!"
And took possession of my heart like a ruble.
You turned a boy into an urkagan.
You introduced me to seasoning (2) and revolver,
Go to the wet (3) hand did not tremble.
But one day they tied us all -
We were five lucky bald men. (four)
When the oxen (5) stared at our faces. (6)
Gray suit, wheels (7) with a creak
I exchanged it for a prison jacket. (eight)
And here again, again we met with you,
You're still the same as eight years ago
With such burning and fucking eyes,
Again you draw my gaze to you. (9)
The last two lines are repeated
(1) Option -
"I remember the day I met you,
You leaned against the bridge.
A drunken wind rushed in your eyes
And the cigarette smoked in my mouth.
Also a variant of the first line - "You were biksoy when I met you."
(2) Seasoning - knife.
(3) Wet, wet business - murder.
(4) 0char - in the war and post-war 40s, this was the name given to young criminals, reckless urkagans; later - just desperate youngsters.
(5) Volyn - a pistol.
(6) Option - "When the frogs took us by surprise."
(7) Wheels - shoes, shoes.
(8) Option - "I changed to prison pajamas.""Pajamas" is called the uniform of a convict in a special regime colony; here: the clothes of the prisoners are striped, like pajamas (therefore, such prisoners are also called "stripes" or "zebras").
(9) In other versions, this verse is sung differently, followed by several more:
“And eight years later I broke free,
I came to look into your fucking face.
So tell me, Maryana, in order,
Why was it necessary to melt the barrens?
Here a shot rang out, Maryana staggered
And then quietly fell on the sand.
She fell, her eyes closed -
It will no longer melt balds.
Maryana, maruha - girl, woman; melt - betray (old jargon).
OPTIONS (4)
1. Maryana
I remember the day I met you
You leaned against the bridge
And quietly said to me: "Let's go!",
And an hour later she made me drink vodka
After all, before you I was not an urkagan,
But you made me an urkagan,
Go to the wet hand did not tremble.
But one day they tied us all,
We were seven lucky bald men,
We slept soundly and knew nothing
When the cops took us by surprise.
Gray suit, creaking wheels
I traded for a prison robe,
During these eight years I have seen a lot of grief,
And not one hair on me shed.
And you are the same as eight years ago,
A shot rang out, Mariana staggered
And quietly fell on the sand
No more melting balds!
The last two couplet lines are repeated
From the soundtrack of Alexei Kozlov and Andrey Makarevich, album "Pioneer thieves' songs", Sintez Records, 1996.
2. You were biksoy when I met you...
You were biksoy when I met you,
You were dragged by sailors in their port.
A drunken wind rushed in your eyes,
And the cigarette smoked in my mouth.
You walked up to me with a dancing step
And in a thug way she said to me: "Well, let's go!"
And late at night she got me drunk with vodka
Understand me, I was not an urkagan -
You made me an urkagan.
You introduced me to prison and revolver,
And you led the frogs on the trail.
And I ended up in kichman for many years!
Like on Deribasovskaya... Songs of yards and streets. Book. 1 / Comp. B. Khmelnitsky and Y. Yaess, eds. V. Kavtorin, St. Petersburg: Penates, 1996. S. 77-79.
3. You were a thug when I met you...
You were a thug when I met you
You were dragged by sailors in their port,
A drunken wind rushed in your eyes,
And the cigarette smoked in my mouth.
You approached me with a dancing gait
And in a thug way she said to me: "Well, let's go,"
And an hour later she gave me vodka to drink
And took possession of my heart like a ruble.
Understand me, I was not an urkagan,
You made me an urkagan
You introduced me to raspberries and revolvers,
The hand did not tremble for wet things.
One day we were running around the city
And you led the cops on the trail.
My friends were stuck to the wall with bullets
And I ended up in kichman for many years.
Almazov B. Not only music for words…. Guitar memoirs. M.: Tsentrpoligraf; LLC "MiM-Delta", 2003. S. 397-398.
4. We were five lucky kids ...
And I went full blast.
You were a girl when I met you
You walked proudly in fashionable heels.
A drunken wind rushed in your eyes,
And the cigarette smoked in his teeth.
You approached me with a careless gait,
She took my arm and said to me: "Let's go!"
And late at night she gave me vodka to drink
And took possession of my heart and ruble.
After all, I've never been an urkagan,
And you made me an urkagan.
You introduced me to raspberries and revolvers.
As he walked into the wet, his hand did not tremble.
Gray suit, squeaky shoes
I exchanged for a state-owned jacket.
During these eight years, a lot of grief mumbled,
And not one hair on me shed.
I unwound the term, like a lyarva, swelling,
There are hard bunk beds and a ration of three hundred grams,
And only about what was, often remembering, -
Such a life - it is supposed to thieves.
And after eight years I broke free,
And you are the same as eight years ago.
So tell me, Mariana, in order,
Since when have you been melting balds?
So what are you standing, blushing and turning pale?
Because of you, I, bitch, suffered!
Run to the campsite, but you just won't make it in time.
And a Finnish knife under her heart drove.
There was a groan, Mariana swayed
And quietly fell on the sand.
She fell, her eyes closed.
Will no longer melt bare.
We were five lucky kids.
And all the young ladies were on the profits.
Four of us have reached the towers,
And I went full blast.
I won't take my suitcase! Songs student, school, yard / Comp. M. Baranova. Moscow: Eksmo, 2006.
Another mixed song - a couplet from "Grey Suit" and a couplet from "Crackers":
The suit is brand new, the wheels creak
The suit is brand new, the wheels creak
I exchanged it for a prison treasury.
During these eight years I met a lot of grief
And not a single hair shed on me.
And the weather is good outside
The young moon shines through the window.
And I have to sit for only four years, -
My heart hurts - so I want to go home.
Songs of prisoners / Comp. V. Pentyukhov. Krasnoyarsk: OFFSET, 1995.
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