The work on the project was hard.

Was it before Alice to help the Russians?

For more than a hundred years she wandered through the fabulous back streets, and besides, she translated Demurov, so much so that Charles Lutwidge Dodgson would be pleased.

And we will never know what made Vysotsky get down to business - the role of Marina in a French radio play based on Lewis Carroll, a sudden collision with a text that is absurd to the point of impossibility and at the same time absolutely understandable and simple, set out by the "academic Russian" - if you are on the wave, if you catch wind. 

Or whatever.

He knew that there was very little time left.

This whole story, especially if you remember it on the day of Vysotsky's departure, seems to be a mirror-like corridor into the light: the glare to pain in the eyes, the reflections are crushed, crumbled, nothing can be grasped with your hands, and there, behind another bend, he recedes into the eternity tangible with your own jokes, with hints, with slicing the truth into slices - six skiboks from a loaf of yarish, sour, and eerily zaboristy.

“And at the end of that road ...

With Babami Yagas ... " 

Vysotsky got on the nerve to any business.

But here there was a special case - an appeal to children, which means - to a possible Future.

When, say, you are a poet among the people, everyone knows you, glorifying your language, and you can hear a loud song from every window.

But you are not there.

You don't appear on the lists, you only go through the card indexes.

How to live for someone who does not exist at all?

Is it not from here that the image of the dodo bird, the fossil dodo, so coolly captured by Vsevolod Abdulov, but who breathed life into it ?! 

Poet Vysotsky.

"I will be a bird in a magical land ..."

After all, it was about him, about Childhood Almighty, were the thoughts of Vysotsky - and about nothing else.

Like all poets "given by God," he knew how to look ahead, to the depth of the flight of thought, without measuring the abyss with shoe laces.

He knew, with the tenth sense he sensed that, as always, they would walk over them, over the children.

Not sparing, not exchanging for sentimentality.

The unbreakable will collapse.

The towers of the fortress will turn to dust.

And in the midst of darkness, in the midst of emptiness and lack of meaning, they will remain - the heirs of Victory, generations for whom the victors who have gone into memory and reality will be unable to do anything. 

“Among the swollen candles and evening prayers,

Among the war trophies and peace fires

There lived book children who did not know battles,

Suffering from small catastrophes ... " 

In 1975 it was written.

A year before the release of "Alice".

And this is already from "Alice":

"All are numb,

Weak and frail

Well, like crazy, 

Run, dear ones! ..

Hey, hoo!

Hey, ooh!

Let us collapse -

But we'll dry out. "

Collapsed, yes.

Are they dry?

It's ahead.

It was not impossible for him.

But, perhaps, for the first time there was a wall in front of him, so that not to be taken in a swing - the project of the children's radio play took four years.

Four years!

Ladder forty forty.

Americans got beat up in Vietnam!

Almost fifteen hundred times the "fresh Pravda" has been published!

Vysotsky wrote thirty poems and twenty-three songs.

In the world of 1972, it is far from detente - and even worse: the world does not know that it will never be ...

Vysotsky ascends to the stars of heaven, falls down - the amplitude is terrible, from this defensive electronics burns, and man?

Man - from nerves and lived?

What should he do?

And there is no one to cry - I did not grow up on this, I read not such books.

“Children's tale.

Here's what to do.

They always answer all questions.

So make a children's fairy tale.

Leave a message, and let them break their heads - take this wall already.

And there it will be seen.

Yes, first they will fill the cones, yes - they will lose everything accumulated to a penny.

But then something.


- everything has its time.

Time to guess and time to guess.


"Let's raise the curtain by the edge -

Such an old, heavy curtain!


Here's what the time was before:

So even - look, Alice! " 

He knew more precisely - not forever.

And he left a code, a riddle inside a riddle, a thread in a labyrinth, a secret under a colored glass in the roots of a tree that grows to the sky.

At first, no one figured it out.

Thanks to the special heavenly office - Oleg Georgievich Gerasimov, actor and teacher (Vysotsky studied with him at the Moscow Art Theater School).

It was he who, after reading "Alice in Wonderland", caught fire with the idea of ​​a children's radio play, an absurdity in the midst of an even greater absurdity, and did not think of anything better how to propose a topic to Vysotsky. 

According to his memoirs (and all agree on one thing), Vysotsky, having read "Alice", fell into either frustration or indignation, argued that the text was not his, that "he could not get through to the point, and even in English!" refused and fell only under the general pressure.

I couldn't get through.


Do you believe in this? 

“I then across the field, along the river.

Light is darkness, there is no God!

And in the open field there are cornflowers,

Long road..."

Then you remember.

He scandalized, they say, harassed everyone, just wore out.

But he took it.

He waved over the wall.

And there is nothing.

Maybe he saw exactly that - the "Buran" abandoned in the middle of the desert, the country thrown in the middle of the desert.

"Yura! .. We are all! .. Or rather, Volodya! .. We are here ..."

And children.


With smart faces, even if they walked wall to wall in districts and villages.

Let them come up with stupid rhymes about "stars in a row."

Even if ... They were alone there.

And no one had a hand ... And he was horrified ... 

“Something is not enough for me - I drink the wind, I swallow the fog ...

I sense it with disastrous delight ... "

The work on the project was hard.

Vysotsky was demanding, unbearable, intolerable and picky.

Tormented by repetition of phrases and intonation, tormented with the performance of songs, he refused to sing.

Everyone suffered, went to Golgotha ​​as a holiday, wept, but they built, kneaded and baked.

When I realized that not everything is possible without him, I sang the most important thing myself. 

“We have bravely and tightly closed ranks,

Like bullets in a clip, like cards in a deck:

The king is among us - we are proud

We march briskly with our people.

Fall face down, down -

You have been given this right,

Prostrate yourself before the king

In slush and mud - all the same!

No, no, the people do not have a difficult role:

Falling to your knees - what's the problem?

The king is responsible for everything

And if not the king, well then - the queen! "

Here is Mikhail Raisovich, no one has ever seen, not really known ...

And now, through the fairytale-magic flutes, bells, harps of Gevorgyan, a drawing of melodies and texts of Vysotsky appears (as it is written on the double album of the Melodiya company - the music and arrangement of Yevgeny Gevorgyan, the words and melodies of the songs of Vladimir Vysotsky) - subtly outlined, but good visible in the haze.

“In order not to fall into a trap,

So as not to get lost in the dark,

To never go astray

To land in the right place, to splash down, -

Draw a plan on the map.

Plans will not forgive deception -

If they are not allowed to come true,

May these plans get angry ... " 

A mirror for ourselves.

However, draw a new plan on the map.

And follow it.

And do not try to fold.

For an hour and a half of sounding, absolutely immersive, comfortably lulling, tightly and well built, falling into a well without beginning or time - you (both then and now) find yourself in one very strange place.

He is no longer on the map, on the current map, but on the one in the heavenly office, there is - and even more so, he is listed in reality, and continues his life, and lives with full breast, and he has enough air!

“There is much that is not clear in a strange country -

You can get confused and get lost ...

Even goosebumps run down my spine

If you imagine what could happen.

What if there will be an abyss - and a jump is needed?

Do you get cold feet right away?

Will you jump boldly?



So, my friend,

This is the whole point. "

He waits, waits for us to jump boldly, because he saw that jump: for us - the unknown, for the poet - an open book. 

As a child, I listened to this album about two hundred times, erased into the trash.

Maybe more than two hundred.

This is me, as if Emelya is in the thirtieth kingdom - by eye and about counted.

And this is what I remember - every time, from side to side (two vinyls - four sides), my inner tension increased, so much so that in the end it was impossible to sit still.

It was he, Vysotsky, who led me by the hand, bypassing potholes and pits with a man's height.

Explaining that here, they say, a royal crumbs, this is not hockey, and not croquet, but something to yourself - with a barrel in the middle, look more closely - you will figure it out in the place, for that it is a red car - not everything on the roads is rolling-rolled - drive.

"I will be a bird in a magical land ..."

To the gallery page

And his Sirins and Alkonosts, and above all else - Gamayun, with one, from the same fairy tale about the real-fiction of the Land of the Unprecedented, what will-happen again. 

“Agree to get wet in the rain?

In the fabulous rain?

Or maybe we can wait?

Shall we postpone it for later? "

And then there is no later, brothers and sisters.

Four years.

If Vysotsky has a testament of the higher will, it is, in my humble and personal understanding, in Alice.

Sleep - he's never a literal dream.

Here is from the radio play: "It seems to people all their lives that they are not sleeping, but they are sleeping, and how soundly."

Everything is so, only with Vysotsky everything is always the other way around - he is for this and a poet to us, to show us the wrong side.

And here we are sleeping, sleeping, dreaming, we are awake lazily and slyly, but inside there is longing, terrible to horror - and there is no way out for him. 

Both Alice Carroll and Alisa Bulychev - it is the same - give a real life, you don't need another!

“I miss you strangely, I'm just exhausted.

And thoughts come - beckoning, disturbing, -

So that someone invited me somewhere

And there I saw something like that! ..

Let the commotion rise at home

And let the punishment threaten - I agree, -

I close my eyes, I count to three ... "

The children heard you, Vladimir Semyonovich.

And the children of the children heard.

And the grandchildren of the grandchildren - will hear too.

You can keep an eye on us, please, and we'll be in charge.

We do not need another, and it is not given.

The point of view of the author may not coincide with the position of the editorial board.