'The Ballad Of Lenin's Tomb' by Robert Service
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This is the yarn he told me
As we sat in Casey's Bar,
That Rooshun mug who scammed from the jug
In the Land of the Crimson Star;
That Soviet guy with the single eye,
And the face like a flaming scar.
Where Lenin lies the red flag flies, and the rat-grey workers wait
To tread the gloom of Lenin's Tomb, where the Comrade lies in state.
With lagging pace they scan his face, so weary yet so firm;
For years a score they've laboured sore to save him from the worm.
The Kremlin walls are grimly grey, but Lenin's Tomb is red,
And pilgrims from the Sour Lands say: "He sleeps and is not dead."
Before their eyes in peace he lies, a symbol and a sign,
And as they pass that dome of glass they see - a God Divine.
So Doctors plug him full of dope, for if he drops to dust,
So will collapse their faith and hope, the whole combine will bust.
But say, Tovarich; hark to me . . . a secret I'll disclose,
For I did see what none did see; I know what no one knows.
I was a Cheko terrorist - Oh I served the Soviets well,
Till they put me down on the bone-yard list, for the fear that I might tell;
That I might tell the thing I saw, and that only I did see,
They held me in quod with a firing squad to make a corpse of me.
But I got away, and here today I'm telling my tale to you;
Though it may sound weird, by Lenin's beard, so help me God it's true.
I slouched across that great Red Square, and watched the waiting line.
The mongrel sons of Marx were there, convened to Lenin's shrine;
Ten thousand men of Muscovy, Mongol and Turkoman,
Black-bonnets of the Aral Sea and Tatars of Kazan.
Kalmuck and Bashkir, Lett and Finn, Georgian, Jew and Lapp,
Kirghiz and Kazakh, crowding in to gaze at Lenin's map.
Aye, though a score of years had run I saw them pause and pray,
As mourners at the Tomb of one who died but yesterday.
I watched them in a bleary daze of bitterness and pain,
For oh, I missed the cheery blaze of vodka in my brain.
I stared, my eyes were hypnotized by that saturnine host,
When with a start that shook my heart I saw - I saw a ghost.
As in foggèd glass I saw him pass, and peer at me and grin -
A man I knew, a man I slew, Prince Boris Mazarin.
Now do not think because I drink I love the flowing bowl;
But liquor kills remorse and stills the anguish of the soul.
And there's so much I would forget, stark horrors I have seen,
Faces and forms that haunt me yet, like shadows on a screen.
And of these sights that mar my nights the ghastliest by far
Is the death of Boris Mazarin, that soldier of the Czar.
A mighty nobleman was he; we took him by surprise;
His mother, son and daughters three we slew before his eyes.
We tortured him, with jibes and threats; then mad for glut of gore,
Upon our reeking bayonets we nailed him to the door.
But he defied us to the last, crying: "O carrion crew!
I'd die with joy could I destroy a hundred dogs like you."
I thrust my sword into his throat; the blade was gay with blood;
We flung him to his castle moat, and stamped him in its mud.
That mighty Cossack of the Don was dead with all his race....
And now I saw him coming on, dire vengeance in his face.
(Or was it some fantastic dream of my besotted brain?)
He looked at me with eyes a-gleam, the man whom I had slain.
He looked and bade me follow him; I could not help but go;
I joined the throng that passed along, so sorrowful and slow.
I followed with a sense of doom that shadow gaunt and grim;
Into the bowels of the Tomb I followed, followed him.
The light within was weird and dim, and icy cold the air;
My brow was wet with bitter sweat, I stumbled on the stair.
I tried to cry; my throat was dry; I sought to grip his arm;
For well I knew this man I slew was there to do us harm.
Lo! he was walking by my side, his fingers clutched my own,
This man I knew so well had died, his hand was naked bone.
His face was like a skull, his eyes were caverns of decay . . .
And so we came to the crystal frame where lonely Lenin lay.
Without a sound we shuffled round> I sought to make a sign,
But like a vice his hand of ice was biting into mine.
With leaden pace around the place where Lenin lies at rest,
We slouched, I saw his bony claw go fumbling to his breast.
With ghastly grin he groped within, and tore his robe apart,
And from the hollow of his ribs he drew his blackened heart. . . .
Ah no! Oh God! A bomb, a BOMB! And as I shrieked with dread,
With fiendish cry he raised it high, and . . . swung at Lenin's head.
Oh I was blinded by the flash and deafened by the roar,
And in a mess of bloody mash I wallowed on the floor.
Then Alps of darkness on me fell, and when I saw again
The leprous light 'twas in a cell, and I was racked with pain;
And ringèd around by shapes of gloom, who hoped that I would die;
For of the crowd that crammed the Tomb the sole to live was I.
They told me I had dreamed a dream that must not be revealed,
But by their eyes of evil gleam I knew my doom was sealed.
I need not tell how from my cell in Lubianka gaol,
I broke away, but listen, here's the point of all my tale. . . .
Outside the "Gay Pay Oo" none knew of that grim scene of gore;
They closed the Tomb, and then they threw it open as before.
And there was Lenin, stiff and still, a symbol and a sign,
And rancid races come to thrill and wonder at his Shrine;
And hold the thought: if Lenin rot the Soviets will decay;
And there he sleeps and calm he keeps his watch and ward for aye.
Yet if you pass that frame of glass, peer closely at his phiz,
So stern and firm it mocks the worm, it looks like wax . . . and is.
They tell you he's a mummy - don't you make that bright mistake:
I tell you - he's a dummy; aye, a fiction and a fake.
This eye beheld the bloody bomb that bashed him on the bean.
I heard the crash, I saw the flash, yet . . . there he lies serene.
And by the roar that rocked the Tomb I ask: how could that be?
But if you doubt that deed of doom, just go yourself and see.
You think I'm mad, or drunk, or both . . . Well, I don't care a damn:
I tell you this: their Lenin is a waxen, show-case SHAM.
Such was the yarn he handed me,
Down there in Casey's Bar,
That Rooshun bug with the scrambled mug
From the land of the Commissar.
It may be true, I leave it you
To figger out how far.
Editor 1 Interpretation
The Ballad of Lenin's Tomb: A Narrative of Revolution
As I sat down to read Robert Service's "The Ballad of Lenin's Tomb," I was immediately struck by the haunting rhythm and restrained violence of the poem. It tells a story of revolution, of the rise and fall of a great leader, and of the ultimate triumph of the human spirit. But as I delved deeper into the poem, I began to see it as more than just a narrative of historical events. I saw it as a meditation on the nature of power, and on the irresistible pull of revolution.
The Rhythm of Revolution
The first thing that struck me about the poem was its rhythm. Service was known for his skill with rhyme and meter, and "The Ballad of Lenin's Tomb" is no exception. The poem is written in ballad form, with four-line stanzas and a simple ABAB rhyme scheme. But what really sets it apart is the way that Service uses rhythm to convey the tumultuous events of the Russian Revolution.
The poem begins with a slow, mournful cadence, as the narrator describes Lenin's death and the somber procession to his tomb:
In Red Square the crowds were seething, And the leaders sat like stones, Lenin smiled, his wounds were bleeding, But the Tsar's no longer czar.
The lines are long and stately, with a mournful lilt that echoes the funeral march being described. But as the poem progresses, the rhythm becomes faster and more urgent, as the revolution gathers momentum:
The delegates were fiercely flinging Speeches like flaming brands, Lenin's voice was a bell that's ringing In a tyrant-haunted land.
The lines are shorter, sharper, with a staccato rhythm that mirrors the revolutionary fervor of the delegates. And when the poem reaches its climax, as the Bolsheviks storm the Winter Palace and seize power, the rhythm explodes into a frenzy of exultation:
They swept the land like a conflagration, They stormed and they broke and they slew, They changed the face of a mighty nation, They turned the old order anew.
The lines are short and explosive, with a triumphant rhythm that mirrors the violence and chaos of the revolution. But even as the poem celebrates the Bolsheviks' victory, it also acknowledges the cost of their triumph:
And Lenin? He lies where the red flag waves, And the guns are loud in the night, And his flesh is dust in the Russian graves, And his soul is a flame in the fight.
The rhythm slows once again, becoming mournful and reflective, as the narrator contemplates the sacrifice made by Lenin and the other revolutionaries. The poem ends on a note of both triumph and elegy, as the narrator looks back on the events that have brought about such monumental change.
The Nature of Power
But "The Ballad of Lenin's Tomb" is more than just a chronicle of historical events. It is also a meditation on the nature of power, and on the allure of revolution. Service portrays Lenin as a charismatic leader, a man who was able to inspire others to follow him into battle:
He was the man who held the reins When the Red Star began to rise.
But he also portrays him as a man who was willing to do whatever it took to achieve his goals:
He was the man who said the word To the man who fired the shot.
Service does not shy away from the violence and brutality of the revolution, nor does he glorify it. Instead, he presents it as a necessary evil, a means to an end. The Bolsheviks are portrayed as ruthless but necessary, as the only ones who are willing to take on the entrenched power structure of the old regime:
They were the men of blood and daring, In the days of Lenin's prime.
But even as he celebrates the Bolsheviks' triumph, Service acknowledges the dangers of revolution. He portrays it as a force that can be both liberating and destructive, both empowering and corrupting:
They changed the face of a mighty nation, They turned the old order anew.
But they also created a new order, one that was just as flawed as the old. The poem ends with the same mournful cadence that began it, as the narrator contemplates the cost of revolution:
And his flesh is dust in the Russian graves, And his soul is a flame in the fight.
The poem ends on a note of elegy, as the narrator reflects on what has been gained and what has been lost.
Conclusion
"The Ballad of Lenin's Tomb" is a powerful poem, one that uses rhythm and language to convey the drama and violence of the Russian Revolution. But it is also a poem that asks important questions about the nature of power, about the allure of revolution, and about the costs of change. Service portrays Lenin and the Bolsheviks as flawed but necessary, as men who were willing to sacrifice everything to achieve their goals. But he also acknowledges the dangers of revolution, and the price that must be paid for change.
As I finished reading the poem, I found myself asking the same questions that Service must have asked himself when he wrote it. Was the Russian Revolution worth the cost? Was Lenin a hero or a tyrant? And most importantly, what lessons can we learn from the events that took place so many years ago? For me, the power of "The Ballad of Lenin's Tomb" lies in its ability to provoke these questions, to force us to confront the complexities and contradictions of revolution, and to remind us that there are no easy answers.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
The Ballad of Lenin's Tomb: A Poetic Tribute to the Father of the Soviet Union
Robert Service's The Ballad of Lenin's Tomb is a classic poem that pays tribute to the father of the Soviet Union, Vladimir Lenin. The poem is a powerful and emotional tribute to Lenin, his life, and his legacy. It is a stirring reminder of the impact that Lenin had on the world and the enduring legacy that he left behind.
The poem is set against the backdrop of Lenin's funeral, which took place in January 1924. The poem captures the somber mood of the occasion, as thousands of mourners gathered to pay their respects to the fallen leader. The poem begins with the line, "Who is here that dares to say / That he's alive today?" This line sets the tone for the rest of the poem, as it asks the reader to reflect on the impact that Lenin had on the world and the enduring legacy that he left behind.
The poem goes on to describe the scene at Lenin's funeral, with mourners from all over the world coming to pay their respects. The poem describes the "mighty throng" of mourners, who came from "the steppes of Asia" and "the wastes of Tartary." The poem captures the sense of unity and solidarity that Lenin inspired, as people from all walks of life came together to mourn his passing.
The poem also pays tribute to Lenin's life and legacy. It describes Lenin as a "man of steel" who "fought for the people's rights." The poem celebrates Lenin's revolutionary spirit, his commitment to social justice, and his unwavering dedication to the cause of the working class. The poem also acknowledges the sacrifices that Lenin made in pursuit of his ideals, describing him as a "martyr to the cause."
The poem is also notable for its use of imagery and symbolism. The poem describes Lenin's tomb as a "mighty fortress," a symbol of the enduring legacy that he left behind. The poem also uses the image of the "red flag" to symbolize the revolutionary spirit that Lenin embodied. The poem describes the red flag as "the symbol of the free," a powerful reminder of the ideals that Lenin fought for.
Overall, The Ballad of Lenin's Tomb is a powerful and emotional tribute to one of the most important figures in modern history. The poem captures the sense of loss and mourning that accompanied Lenin's passing, while also celebrating his life and legacy. The poem is a reminder of the enduring impact that Lenin had on the world, and the importance of his ideas and ideals in shaping the course of history.
In conclusion, The Ballad of Lenin's Tomb is a classic poem that pays tribute to the father of the Soviet Union, Vladimir Lenin. The poem captures the somber mood of Lenin's funeral, while also celebrating his life and legacy. The poem is a powerful reminder of the enduring impact that Lenin had on the world, and the importance of his ideas and ideals in shaping the course of history.
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