One of those little moments of beauty. I was in the Finch subway station. There are musicians who busk in many of the stations. In this case, it was an old man with an accordion. He struck up a few chords, instantly familiar to me. And to someone else. A middle-aged Asian woman, walking by, also recognized what was coming, and immediately began to sing. It was a trained voice, very beautiful. She sang, in Russian, Vasily Soloviev-Sedoi’s popular song, Подмосковные Вечера. Now, most Russian songs are sad and heart-tugging, but “Moscow Nights” is that, squared and cubed. It comes off best with a deep male voice — the most famous version is sung by Vladimir Troshin. But this woman was very effective. By the time she was finished, the whole, bustling mass of commuters in the hall that led from the bus platforms to the trains was transfixed. Teenagers, who would normally turn up their iPods as they trudged obliviously past any busker, were stopping to drop coins into the accordionist’s hat. The woman started to dance as she sang. The crowd was mesmerized. When the song ended, with mothers, children, businessmen, students, and subway workers applauding, the accordionists did not skip a beat, and launched immediately into another song. Some opera tune, vaguely familiar to me, but which I could not identify. The woman jumped into it instantly, singing the full aria in Italian. More applause. Again, only a second’s hiatus, and they were doing Bésame mucho, a song so corny that normally it’s unbearable. But she gave it dignity.
Three songs, and then she obviously had to get to work, or whatever. I spoke to her for a moment as we headed for the trains. Her accent was Korean. Did she speak Russian? No, she said, she had merely memorized the words phonetically. And she disappeared, nameless, with her grocery bags, down a crowded escalator into the silver cars that sped under the earth.
Подмосковные Вечера (Podmoskovnye Vechera)
[“Moscow Nights”, sometimes “Midnight in Moscow” or “Nights on the Edge of Moscow”]
Не слышны в саду даже шорохи,
Всё здесь замерло до утра.
Если б знали вы, как мне дороги
Подмосковные вечера.
Речка движется и не движется,
Вся из лунного серебра.
Песня слышится и не слышится
В эти тихие вечера.
Что ж бы, милая, смотришь искоса,
Низко голову наклоняя?
Трудно высказать и не высказать
Всё, что на сердце у меня.
А рассвет уже всё заметнее.
Так, пожалуйста, будь добра.
Не забудь и ты эти летние
Подмосковные вечера.
Even whispers aren’t heard in the garden,
Everything has died down till morning.
If you only knew how dear to me
Are these Moscow nights.
The river moves, unmoving,
All in silver moonlight.
A song is heard, yet unheard,
In these silent nights.
Why do you, dear, look askance,
With your head lowered so?
It is hard to express, and hard to hold back,
Everything that my heart holds.
But the dawn’s becoming ever brighter.
So please, just be good.
Don’t you, too, forget
These summer, Moscow nights.
0 Comments.