“…let it happen what should happen in an end that’s worth the memory”

“Conclusions” is the last known poem of Igor Franceschi, written in 1977, at the age of 70.

By then, the poet was fully blind — his vision clouded by all he had endured.
He wrote by feel, unable to see what his hand was tracing on the page.
And yet, he kept writing—guided by memory and by a quiet inner vision that still burned when all else had gone dark.

In this elegiac work, the poet evokes the memory of his hometown by using its former name—Vyatka—referring to it as “the sound of the forgotten name.” This detail holds deep symbolic weight: in 1934, the city was renamed Kirov in honor of Sergei Kirov, whose assassination marked the beginning of Stalin’s Great Purge.

For Franceschi and his generation, "Vyatka" signifies more than a geographical place—it embodies the lost world of their youth. The name carries the dreams and ideals of his early years, closely tied to his sister Tamara Zinger and his best friend Leonid Dyakonov (his “school brother”). The poem resonates with a quiet nostalgia for a time, a place, and a self that once were.

Translated from Russian into English by Elena Prozorova:

Conclusions

Crystal frost glimmers,

Humming silver melodies.

I envision or dream of

Our city of youthful reveries.

In the intimate haze of reminiscence,

Revived the sound of the forgotten name.

And through the seemingly endless years,

“Vyatka” – I will call it and reclaim.

We’re summoned by one message,

Vyatichi: Brother-in-school, sister and me.

We are settling down together

Warmed by the campfire’s vivid memory.

Through half a century of ordeals

Our group has made its path,

And now the past is crystal clear,

And what became of us.

We used to race

Towards life as in delirium,

By now our dreams decay,

And in the withered garden of senility

We will calmly pick up flowers,

Thrown to us on the path,

By the very life

That tastes of tears and wrath.

Our waves subside their running

And you and me, let us be stunning,

That our life’s distance

Was full of a bitter happiness of existence.

That there were some friendly faces

Throughout the entire century

So, let it happen what should happen

In an end that’s worth the memory.

1977