I visited this cemetery in August 2010 and, as it was a Sunday afternoon and there was nobody to ask, I spent a very long time wandering around trying to find one grave among many thousands! There was no locating detail on findagrave.com. The photos of the grave posted on Flickr barely had enough information to identify where in the cemetery the grave would be found. It also occurred to me that there might be admirers of Tarkovsky and his work who would like to find the grave but will find it all the more difficult if they cannot read Cyrillic. So I thought I would create a simple site to assist with the task.
To get to the cemetery, you can take RER line C to Sainte Genevieve des Bois, and from the station catch bus 104. This does not go down Rue Leo Legrange, on which the cemetery is situated, but turns off just before it. From the centre of Paris the combined RER, bus journey and walk will take 50-60 minutes before you are at the cemetery gates.
There is a large plan of the cemetery just inside the second gate. If your eyesight is very good (looking at the plan in real life, not at this tiny photo!), you will be able to see that in zone J1 there is a grave 7259. I am reasonably certain that this is the plot number for Tarkovsky's grave; if it is not, and you head for that plot number you will certainly find yourself close enough to find it from the photos posted here.
The plot is near one of the surrounding walls and if you walk along the path running beside that wall, you will get this view towards the row where it is situated. It is under the mass of greenery in the middle.
The grave itself looks like this. On the left hand side is a small tablet commemorating Tarkovsky. The inscription on his grave stone, which was created by the Russian sculptor Ernst Neizvestny, reads: Andrey Tarkovsky - 4.IV.1932-29.12.1986 - To the man who saw the Angel.
To my mind, it is a rather measly memorial to a very considerable artistic figure, and I don't feel that the reference to an angel is an obvious tribute to the strengths of Tarkovsky's work. But this is where he is buried, so may he rest in peace under it ...
As when I arrived at the RER station the bus 104 was already waiting, so I had no time to buy some flowers in the centre of the suburb. By the side of the grave, seeing a very small number of tributes already there, I regretted this. I decided to create my own "found wreath" out of pebbles and natural objects readily available around the grave. I should like to think this was an acceptable tribute, given Tarkovsky's love of nature and natural forms.
So that is my account of how to find the grave. If you are an admirer of Tarkovsky's work, and you are unable to go to the grave yourself, why not leave a comment below about what his work means to you, as a tribute?
Thank you very much , i will try to go there
ReplyDeletebut could u please tell me clearly again
about when i can get off from the Bus 104 ?
thanks
There is a better map at the entrance of the cemetery today.
ReplyDeleteTrakovsky's grave is nr.180, it's about 100m from Rudolf Nureev's grave.
If you want to have a copy of it, let me know.
Luc
Hi Luc,
DeleteCould you email me a copy of the better map? I am going to St Genevieve-des-Bois in June, and want to find Tarkovsky's grave.
Thanks,
Sean.
Thanks for this. I went there in 2007, but couldn't find the grave. I am going again in June, so hope to be able to find it this time, with your directions!
ReplyDeleteThank you for posting this information. I visited the cemetery in November 1991 but back in those days there was no internet, Google Maps or posts such as this one, and the only information that I had was the name of the cemetery. I found myself lost in a maze of gravestones, and because I read cyrillic, I spent a long time going through the names of the deceased one by one.
ReplyDeleteMeanwhile the weather was worsening, a cold wind began to blow and I started to look for someone to ask for directions. In the distance I saw an Orthodox priest but soon he disappeared and I didn't get a chance to talk to him. I began to contemplate giving up, but first of the thought of a rare opportunity to visit Paris, then coming all this way only to give up somehow didn't feel right. Then it suddenly occurred to me that at that instance I was living a perfect Tarkovskian moment - the journey was the distination and there was no need to go any further. The fact that I made the journey and found myself within 100 metres of the mortal remains of the man who I admired and still admire more than any other contemporary artist and thinker was exactly what I was looking for, so I turned around and slowly made my trip back to Paris feeling strangely fulfilled.
Having said that, I will make another attempt at finding the grave the next time I'm in Paris. As for the monument itself, judging from the pictures, it is a perfect tribute to someone so humble and divorced from materialistic needs. And I also beleive that it is good that there are no directions to the grave because a cemetery should remain a peaceful resting place and not a tourist attraction.
Thanks for the info, and I was able to visit Him yesterday.
ReplyDeleteNow, Bus 3 goes directly from the Genevieve train station to and drops you off in front of the entrance of the cemetery.
At the entrance is a map indicating where his grave 180 is, so no one should have problem finding it.
As to the wreath, it was still there, although I had to rearrange it a little. :)
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ReplyDeleteThank you so much for making this. I found out through google pictures that his name is actually in the cemetery's map. You're right, it is in the J1 area according to your map. In Saint Genevieve's map find: 180 - TARKOVKI Andrei Arsenievich
ReplyDeleteI just watched "The Mirror" for the first time and remain stunned. I began rummaging, snooping for whatever I might find online and among other things learned Tarkovsky died at 54...so young. I had tried to visit Nureyev's grave at this cemetery in Paris last year but it didn't work out. But he died too soon as well; I checked and learned that he and Tarkovsky both passed at age 54. Because of your loving explanation I will have a clearer idea of how to pay my respects to these two magnificent Russians I do know about, as well as so many I don't. I will bring armfuls of flowers. I like Tarkovsky's memorial. It is no small thing to see the Angel.
ReplyDeleteConfessional Diary
ReplyDeleteIn Memory of Andrei Tarkovsky
1932 - 1986
. . . suffering is germane to our existence . . .
how without it, should we be able to ‘fly upwards’.
Sculpting in Time (1986)
You will not understand . . . it is one day off the first spring moon
and I am lost in deep snow – not knowing merriment
Blessedness – never . . .
This the dreaded episode – the script on fire!
Rublev’s face reflected in all the sad waters
across the desolate – but resplendent – homeland
across which echoes the voluminous voice
of the largest bell ever built in the land
Rublev’s many faces – become Christ’s abandoned at the bottom
of a deserted, magical well . . . in which can be seen
the flickering universe wanting to come home –
to bring to life the one enormous soul of all Russia’s dead –
dead lovers, dead unknown soldiers, discovered by a wayward dog
straying from its already nomadic course – packs of them even
howling as in a bad dream in which love is sacrificed for nostalgia
Say – abandoned coins glittering amongst fallen leaves
‘Ah the birches, the innocent air of childhood’
And sleep, humbling sleep – disturbed only by excited atoms
dancing, vibrating each in their own micro-space –
as in a child’s tremulous mind landscaped with pines –
with sun, rain and sea . . . sun rain and sea –
which - too soon will be unsettled by a passionate fear of death
on this unlucky day devoid of homespun colour
And all this written – confessed in a diary (full of cunning)
which tells of a life that suffers – for want of deepening into its own time
Again – into the deepest snow – that knows with merriment
the motion of all the first spring moons –
towards the genesis of human wisdom –
the inertial life-cycle of generations
caught in the memories strewn across the pages . . .
like precious coins
dropped amongst the leaves
reflected in the water
hidden in the carapace of an upturned bell . . .
The flickering universe come home – understood