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tabular_rasaHere is a little song about Ivan Denisovich. For those of you who do not know this book, you won't get it. Yes, I get that he's in a gulag and it's supposed to make a political statement and be really deep and talk about the suffering of men inflicting with punishment under Stalin in work camps in Siberia, and it's supposed to "champion the triumph of the human resilience in the worst conditions and face of adversity," but, really, did we need to hear all about the cold and the bricks and the spoon in his boot?
For the record, I really didn't mind that book. I just had trouble finding theme and meaning in it that wasn't just in the setting itself. I mean, he just could have written, "Gulag," and we would have gotten it or . . . or else, he could have just written a biography or an non-fiction account of the gulags and such . . . you know . . .
Ivan Denisovich Man, to the tune of "Blue" by Eiffel-65:
Yo, listen up: Here's a story
About a Russian guy that lives in a gulag,
And all day and all night everything he is
Is just cold, yes, him, inside and outside.
Cold his barracks with their cold little windows,
And the cold porridge,
And even the bread is cold for him, and the Latvian,
And everyone else around,
'Cause he was screwed getting locked up in Siberia.
He's cold, that Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man.
I have a cold barracks with some cold windows.
Cold is the chamber pot that I always use.
Cold are guards, and all the prisoners, too.
I know a Moldavian, and he is so cold.
Cold are the bricks that I am so proud to make,
Cold as the thermometer that measures the outside.
Cold are the boots I wear and the feet inside.
Cold is the spoon, that fits in my boots.
He's cold, that Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man.
Inside and outside, cold his barracks,
With the cold little windows, and the cold prisoners,
And everything is cold for him, and the Latvian,
And everyone else around because he got screwed
Getting locked up Siberia.
He's cold, that Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man.
He's cold, that Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man.
Oh, and I think I will do this, too, like Niff has posted in her journal . . .
Here it is:
[01] Reply with your name and I will write something about you.
[02] I will then tell what song[s] remind me of you.
[03] Next, I will tell you who you remind me of, celebrity/animated or otherwise.
[04] Last, I will try to name a single word that best describes you.
[05] Put this in your journal.
I probably will be very bad at these, but what the heck . . .
For the record, I really didn't mind that book. I just had trouble finding theme and meaning in it that wasn't just in the setting itself. I mean, he just could have written, "Gulag," and we would have gotten it or . . . or else, he could have just written a biography or an non-fiction account of the gulags and such . . . you know . . .
Ivan Denisovich Man, to the tune of "Blue" by Eiffel-65:
Yo, listen up: Here's a story
About a Russian guy that lives in a gulag,
And all day and all night everything he is
Is just cold, yes, him, inside and outside.
Cold his barracks with their cold little windows,
And the cold porridge,
And even the bread is cold for him, and the Latvian,
And everyone else around,
'Cause he was screwed getting locked up in Siberia.
He's cold, that Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man.
I have a cold barracks with some cold windows.
Cold is the chamber pot that I always use.
Cold are guards, and all the prisoners, too.
I know a Moldavian, and he is so cold.
Cold are the bricks that I am so proud to make,
Cold as the thermometer that measures the outside.
Cold are the boots I wear and the feet inside.
Cold is the spoon, that fits in my boots.
He's cold, that Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man.
Inside and outside, cold his barracks,
With the cold little windows, and the cold prisoners,
And everything is cold for him, and the Latvian,
And everyone else around because he got screwed
Getting locked up Siberia.
He's cold, that Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man.
He's cold, that Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man, Ivan Denisovich man.
Oh, and I think I will do this, too, like Niff has posted in her journal . . .
Here it is:
[01] Reply with your name and I will write something about you.
[02] I will then tell what song[s] remind me of you.
[03] Next, I will tell you who you remind me of, celebrity/animated or otherwise.
[04] Last, I will try to name a single word that best describes you.
[05] Put this in your journal.
I probably will be very bad at these, but what the heck . . .
