On this interest builds also the exhibition recently opened on the images of the city from between 1900 and 1960 in Moscow’s Lumière Brothers Photo Gallery. In contrast to the above mentioned ones, these photos are not unknown. Most of them appeared in magazines and albums during the past decades. Being press photos, they offer mostly daily impressions; they do not include many photo documents on the old Moscow disappearing just in these decades, neither on that dense fabric of the city which is explored with preference by today’s photographers. Nevertheless, in this way, exposed together, they give a good picture on a decisive half century of Moscow’s history, on that characteristic one-time atmosphere which has been completely transformed on the way of becoming a modern metropolis.
From the more than three hundred photos of the exposition the Мир на карте blog yesterday published almost a hundred ones. The photos taken on the spot are sometimes blurred, sometimes they reflect the neon lights of the gallery, but even so they are very enjoyable. The pictures on exposition, she writes, had been made by thirty photographers; unfortunately she does not include their names. Some of them can be recognized: Naum Granovsky, Alexandr Ustinov, Boris Ignatovich, Yury Trankvilitsky, Viktor Ahlomov, known press photographers of the period. On the others perhaps the catalog of the exhibition could tell more. We hope we would get it soon.
Bulat Okudzhava: The last trolley, 1957
Когда мне невмочь пересилить беду,
когда подступает отчаянье,
я в синий троллейбус сажусь на ходу,
в последний, в случайный.
Последний троллейбус, по улицам мчи,
верши по бульварам круженье,
чтоб всех подобрать, потерпевших в ночи
Последний троллейбус, мне дверь отвори!
Я знаю, как в зябкую полночь
твои пассажиры, матросы твои
приходят на помощь.
Я с ними не раз уходил из беды,
я к ним прикасался плечами...
Как много, представьте себе, доброты
в молчанье, молчанье.
Последний троллейбус плывет по Москве,
Москва, как река, затухает,
и боль, что скворчонком стучала в виске,
|When I cannot overcome misfortunes|
any more, when despair rises,
I get on a blue trolley
the last one, a random one.
Last trolley, run all over the streets
drive round all the boulevards
pick up all who have suffered
a crash, a crash in the night.
Last trolley, open your doors to me!
I know that in the chilling midnight
your passengers, your sailors
will come to my help.
More than once I came out of trouble
while touching them shoulder by shoulder
Imagine, how much kindness there is
in the silence, in the silence.
The last trolley is floating over Moscow,
Moscow, like a river, falls asleep
and the pain, throbbing in my temple like
a young starling, calms down, calms down.