Shostakovich: String Quartet No.4 in D major Op.83 [1949]

THE LIGHTS ARE RICHLY BLENDED VARIATIONS ON LAVENDER

The composer has lit a small candle.

This is a shawl to be used in reflection.
For nobody but me at this point.
Nobody is to hear this just yet.
My invisible ode to all Jews.

He speaks pragmatically:

Perhaps it’s just as well this way.
I got by with the 5^th symphony.
They invented a program for it.
Something they’ll never do to this.

But all the same I’m shaken.
To have been officially named for the second time:
Enemy of the People Shostakovich

Succinctly:

My name is Dmitri
As a child they called me Mitya
I was born in September
Nineteen hundred and six

My parents wanted to name me
Jaroslav but the priest objected:
“That will never do”

He deliberately downs another glass of vodka.

Everyone is acting strangely.
Although certainly one should be accustomed to this sort of thing by now.

I find myself walking by myself.

He paces, looking down.

Minding my own business.
Watching my feet.

Stops short. Glancing up to confront the audience.

You should know that these quartets are my uncensored reflections.
Although some would consider them little more than nail parings.

He places both hands face down upon the table.

My name is Dmitri Dmitriyevich.
I am the same one to whom you gave the Stalin Prize.

My grandfather was a Polish revolutionary.

I have woven here the fine fabric of Judaica.
It cannot be separated from that of Russia.

Impossible to deny these people their existence and well-being.
Also unthinkable that I should fail to weave this cloth for them.

For the Jews
And for Armenia
For Palestine
And the Jews

Archly:

‘Rootless Cosmopolitans’?
You’d better include me too.

BLACKOUT








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