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“НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ”, ГРУДЕНЬ 2019 WWW. UNWLA.ORG 13 I first met Viktor in Lviv in 1989, a month or two before the Cher- vona Ruta festival so beautifully de- scribed by Marta Zielyk in her article published in the October issue of Our Life . Morozov was the driving force behind Ne Zhurys, a group of singers who became a sensation in their own country and later in diaspora com mu- nities in the West. Their repertoire comprised political songs that mocked or lamented conditions in Ukrain e; a musical condemnation of the Soviet system, it was a multifaceted collec- tion of songs that ranged in tone from somber to mocking and cover ed a wide spectrum of themes that included the Chornobyl nuclear disaster, food shor - tages, Soviet indoctrination of chil- dren, and even a demand that the Ukrainian language be restored to the Ukrainian people. One universal fa- vorite on the lighter side was a ditty about a mysterious shoe whose travels through the city of Lviv provoke awed speculation and unsuccessful attempts at apprehension. To make a long story a little shorter, my Branch 88 friends and I arriv ed at our destination and joined the crowd that had arrived before us. When Morozov emerged from one of the side r ooms, he was enthusiastically welcomed. The program ensued with the singer explaining how his musical career had begun: his days as a student, artistic collaborations with va rious poets whose works he put to music, out witting the authorities while promoti ng Ukrainian lyrics and symbols that did not adhere to the requisite political standards, etc., weaving in fragments of songs to illustrate po ints made. Im- ages (still and moving) on a screen behind Moro- zov illustrated and enhanced his narrative. Now and ag ain he invited those present to sing along with him, an invitation many of us accepted, espe- cially with the familiar “Lvivske Pyvo” (Lviv beer ). At the end of the program attendees had the opportunity to purchase CDs with some of Mo- rozov’s recent work, ge t autographs, or simply chat. I felt a little nervous about reconnecting. Two decades had passed since the last time we met, and I wondered if he would even remember me. I didn’t want to come off as some annoying and pushy “groupie” so I brought an old pho to of the two of us in a room that served as Ne Zhurys headquarters in Lviv as an icebreaker and gave it to him (I have a copy at home). Then we had a brief but pleasant chat about the bad old days and the better days, which included the Ne Zhurys concert at the UECC (that was followed by a party at my house) and a more recent solo appearance at the UECC a year or two ago. P.S. Each of the ev e nts and institutions and indi- viduals mentioned here is a poignant symbol of the Ukrainian identity that is such an integral part of the hromada life we sometimes take for granted, an incredibly strong unifying factor for those of us fortunate enough to be a part of it. The organiza- tions and the people who inhabit this magical and interesting mosaic enrich our lives and connect us to one another in manifold ways. And it is this con- nectivity that provides us with a sense of belonging to something bigger than ourselves. It was a nice way to grow up, and it’s a nice way to grow old. – tsc Народився Христос Андрій Гарасевич В заворожену даль відлітають окрилені тіні, Клуби хмар голубих протинають проміння зорі. В віфлеємськім хліву, на пахучім розстеленім сіні Народився Христос. Каганець вже давно догорів, Але чесність сліпуча змикала потомлені вії — І негайно побачили смертно - бліді пастирі, Начеб з ясел оцих, начеб з теплих обіймів Марії Тихо сходило сонце. Високо - високо вгорі Роз пливалася стеля, крутилася в білому димі, Розступалися хмари, відкрили лунку височінь, І з розкритого неба прибули стрункі херувими, Щоб зложити йому свій доземний, свій низький поклін. Відчиняються двері — вривається вітер і простір, Відчиняються двері — пурпура, пурпура горить! Із д алеких країн три царі — три «вітані» гості Приклякають у порох, складають коштовні дари, Присягають на вірність... І блідо всміхається Мати, Пестить Сина свого і леліє замріяні сни, А під схилом Голгофи регочать, готують Розп ’яття і горлають: «Розпни»!
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