Grigory Solomonovich Pomerants was precisely a great man – in the most original and precise sense of these words. I didn’t know him very well, but for some reason I think I’m not mistaken.
The writing table in the office of Grigory Solomonovich Pomerants stood at the very window. So that, sitting down to work, Grigory Solomonovich could see the forest.
The office, however, is an exaggeration. And the forest too. A small room, even to call it “modest” would already mean much to flatter her. And the South-Western Forest Park, part of the Troparevo recreation area, pressed in from all sides by vigorous new buildings. But for the Pomeranian, it was precisely the forest. Not in the sense of biological diversity, huge size or increased denseness. Forest in the sense of a natural phenomenon, a living part of the living world, the perfection of which cannot but be admired. Grigory Solomonovich told me what happiness it was to just look out of the window every day (in recent years he was very ill and almost could not go for walks) at the lush greenery in summer and the interweaving of black trunks and branches against a snow-white background in winter. And listening to him, even the most inveterate urbanist, probably, would not doubt for a second that this is really happiness.
Alexander Arkhangelsky, one of the first to respond to the death of Pomerants, wrote very correct words in his LiveJournal. The fact that Grigory Solomonovich is difficult to correlate with some understandable categories. Philosopher, culturologist, theologian? All the time a little past. Writer, writer? Again, not that. Dissident? Again no. But who was he then and why did his departure turn out to be a personal loss for everyone (I’m sure), who at least once saw or heard Pomeranets, who read at least a few of his pages?
I think I know the answer. We habitually talk about great people, referring to them commanders, scientists or artists. And not really thinking that, in essence, this is not true. Because a great commander could win a thousand battles, a great scientist could discover a thousand laws of nature, and a great artist could play a thousand bright roles, but all this says little about what kind of people they were. So, Grigory Solomonovich Pomerants was precisely a great man – in the most original and precise sense of these words. I didn’t know him very well, but for some reason I think I’m not mistaken.
Grigory Pomerants as a person was – and will remain, as long as we remember him – much more than anything he wrote: philosophical works, and books on religion, and polemics with Solzhenitsyn, and even the excellent Notes of the Ugly Duckling. His main work was his own life. Not romantic-Byronic life-creativity, but simply the life of a worthy person. There was great courage and great love in this life. There was a war, and there were Stalinist camps. There was pain and there was faith. It was what Grigory Solomonovich himself said best of all: “I took only two or three steps in depth. This is absolutely not enough for our salvation. It’s a little over zero. But these are real, not imaginary steps, and they will not lose their meaning if all the words are changed.
In one of the conversations with me, speaking about the values of human life, Grigory Solomonovich almost innocently admired the fact that the main ones are given to us for free. He cited as an example magazine reproductions of great paintings and icons on the walls of his room. And then he started talking about music: “After all, a disc with musical recordings is quite inexpensive, and you can listen to music on the radio just for free!” And he told how he fell in love with classical music. It was in the camp, where Pomeranets, after tough conflicts with the “thieves” and a real threat to his life, was lucky to get a warm position as a rationing workshop with slightly more free conditions. Grigory Solomonovich found the best use for this camp freedom. On the territory of the camp there were poles with loudspeakers, broadcasting the first (and at that time, it seems, the only) radio program around the clock. Every evening, loudspeakers spewed out uninterrupted symphonies and concertos by Tchaikovsky, Glinka, Mussorgsky for hours. And Pomerants, wearing felt boots and a pea coat, went out every evening to a 35-degree frost and walked for hours around a pole with a loudspeaker. He listened to great music and felt happy.
Of course, this episode was included in the interview. And then I came across almost the same story by Grigory Solomonovich in an interview with another publication. I remember I was upset: I was offended in a journalistic way that my text was not exclusive, although it was clear that Pomeranz had spoken about this in many places. Now I’m glad. I really want as many people as possible to imagine him that way. Standing in felt boots and a pea coat in a 35-degree frost under a huge starry sky filled with great music. Free and happy.
Read more:
- The work of love
- Circle of tenderness
- Feasible loneliness
- Pause for contemplation
Books:
Autobiography of Grigory Pomerants: “Notes of an ugly duckling”
G. Pomerants, Z. Mirkina “Great Religions of the World”
G. Pomerants “Exit from a trance”