By Stephen Kotkin, kotkin at princeton.edu author of, "Magnetic Mountain: Stalinism as a Civilization, " and more recently, "Armageddon Averted: The Soviet Collapse, 1970-2000, (2001)
Varlam Shalamov (1907-1982)
Samizdat poem to camp "goners," set in what today is a recreational destination in Russia's Magadan province (translated by Anne Applebaum and Galya Vinogradova).
I raise my glass to a road in the forest To those who fall on their way To those who can't drag themselves farther But are forced to drag on.
To their bluish hard lips To their identical faces To their torn, frost-covered coats To their hands without gloves
To the water they sip, from an old tin can To the scurvy which sticks to their teeth. To the teeth of fattened gray dogs Which awake them in the morning
To the sullen sun, Which regards them without interest To the snow-white tombstones, The work of clever snowstorms
To the ration of raw, sticky bread Swallowed quickly To the pale, too high sky To the Ayan-Yuryakh River! -- Michael Pugliese
"Without knowing that we knew nothing, we went on talking without listening to each other. Sometimes we flattered and praised each other, understanding that we would be flattered and praised in return. Other times we abused and shouted at each other, as if we were in a madhouse." -Tolstoy