Vysotsky: Translations: Ilya Shambat.

Vladimir Vysotsky: Songs: Trans. by Ilya Shambat

Vysotsky's Lyrics: Translation by Ilya Shambat

Ballad about love
Capricious horses
The Cranes
The Cupolas
I'm in the light...
Mountain echo
Someone saw the fruit...
White waltz

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The Cranes
Russian title: Aisty

It is clear and blue, sky today
But now metal does clang, clang away,
And there's humming all over our land 
And they trees are in soot - they are sad.
Just like crosses the smoke and ash stand, 
On the rooftops the cranes don't make nests.
 
Amber-colored chaff, will it stand?
No! We sowed it all, all in vain.
With what amber light is field filled?
This is wildfire that runs through the field.
Everyone came apart out of pain.
There are no singing birds - only ravens.
 
And the trees are in dust - in this fall
And those who could still sing - stopped it all.
And love is not for us. Don't you know?
What do we need the most? Hatred. So,
Just like crosses the smoke and ash stand, 
On the rooftops the cranes don't make nests.
 
Canopies now make sound in the forest, 
But through water and land run the moans.
But there are no miracles - the trees
Are screaming with double screams.
They have gone to the east from the pain,
There are no singing birds, there are no cranes.

The air can hold many sounds,
But now in it the metal resounds.
There is sound of the hoofs - tiredly,
If somebody would shout - quietly.
They have gone to the east from the pain,
And above the rooftops there are no cranes.

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The Cupolas
Russian title: Kupola

How I'll see it now, how I'll breathe it in?
Air is harsh before the lightning, harsh and choking.
How I'll hear it all today, how I will sing.
From the fairy tales the wise birds are singing.

The bird Sirin is joyfully grinning,
Making happy, calling from nests.
And against him is now despairing,
Wounds the soul the strange Alkonost.

Just like seven promised strings
Ring without stop -
Thus the bird Gamayun
Imparting hope!

In the blue sky, pierced with belltowers,
Copper bell, copper bell,
Will be joyful or will be sore.
Russian cupolas are dressed in pure gold
That the good Lord would notice them more.

I stand, like before an timeless mystery,
Before great and fairy-tale country.
Before salty - bitter - sweet and sour land
Blue, spring-water, and full of rye.

Eating dirt fat till the rust,
Horses go down till stirrups,
But they pull me with sleepy great power
That has rotted, bloated from sleep.

The soul, beaten with losses and sorrows, 
The soul, torn till it's narrow,
If till blood the cloth has been worn,
I will patch with the golden patches
That the good Lord will notice it more.

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Mountain echo
Russian title: Gornoe ekho

In the quiet valley where rocks do not stand in the way of the windstorm
In such places that no one got there or will get again
There joyfully lived a delightfully happy mountain echo
It answered the cry of mankind - yes it answered the cry of the man.

When loneliness comes up to throat as if with a stone
And moan once suppressed falls into the crevasse in the land
The echo would take up this cry that comes out of the troat
Augment manifold and then gently lift up in its hand.

Perhaps it was people, made drunk on a horrible potion 
In order that no one would hear their stomping and shouts
Came over to kill, to make soundless the mountain valley
And they tied the echo and they placed a gag in its mouth.

All night they continued the bloody and cruel amusement
And nobody heard but a sound as on it people walked
In morning they shot in the face the quiescent mountain echo
And stones just like tears did burst from the wounded rock.

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White waltz
Russian title: Belyj val's

O what a ball! Intensity of movement, nerves and sound!
The hearts were beating in three beats and not in twain.
And ladies were inviting gentlemen
To a traditional white waltz - and took the breath away.

And you, that dance with sorrow together,
Decided to invite that one girl long ago -
But you must always leave to go somewhere -
To help somebody or to ready for a war.

And all, still closer, the more real it becomes,
She, one with whom you had intended to come in,
She comes in order to invite you to the waltz -
And in your temple blood was pounding.

Externally calm in a ball full of noise,
You're given away by the shadow of yours -
She tore, and broke, and trembled in blurry light, as you spun.
Held gently by the hand, and whirling her like mad,
And you could have put her across a knife's blade
So why do you stand, crossing arms, not your own and no one's?

It was white waltz - the end to doubts of unbelievers 
And end of childhood consolations, dreams and games -
Today the ladies did invite the cavaliers
And not because the latter weren't brave.

The ladies are called forth in time of ball
And waltz spins heads around, like long before.
But we must always answer someone's call -
To help somebody or get ready for a war.

Whiter than snow is the white waltz, spin now, strive!
That snow does not get interrupted as it falls!
She came in order to invite you to a life -
And you were white - whiter than walls, whiter than waltz!

Externally calm in a ball full of noise,
You're given away by the shadow of yours -
She tore, and broke, and trembled in blurry light, as you spun.
Held gently by the hand, and whirling her like mad,
And you could have put her across a knife's blade
So why do you stand, crossing arms, not your own and no one's?

Wherever you were - in the lyceum, in the tavern -
In palace halls, in school - whatever luck despite -
In Russia ladies did invite the gentlemen
In every age to the white waltz, and all was white.

Dulling the sight, not looking to each side,
Through the despair, silence, quiet, as you see,
The women hurried to come to our aid -
Their hall - the size of the entire country.

Where you will go, wherever you will fly
Recall the waltz - how you were white - and smile, you'll learn:
They'll wait forever - and from sea and from the sky -
They will invite you to white waltz when you return. 

Externally calm in a ball full of noise,
You're given away by the shadow of yours -
She tore, and broke, and trembled in blurry light, as you spun.
Held gently by the hand, and whirling her like mad,
And you could have put her across a knife's blade
So why do you stand, crossing arms, not your own and no one's?

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Capricious horses
Russian title: Koni priveredlivye

By the edge, near the cliff, at the very, very limit
I am beating at my horses with my arm, a whiplash in it.
I'm not getting enough air - drinking wind, the fog imbibing,
And I scent with deadly rapture: I am dying, I am dying!

Just a little slower, horses, little slower now!
Do not listen to the sharp whip, it is wrong!
But the horses that I got are capricious ones
I can't live to the end, I can't finish my song.

I will let horses drink - the couplet I will sing
For a little bit more I will stand on the brink...

I will vanish - like a piece of dust by wind I will blown,
In the morning they will drag me in the sleigh through the snow,
O my horses, walk some slower, show a bit of moderation
Just a little bit, prolong my way to final destination! 

Just a little slower, horses, little slower now!
Do not listen to the sharp whip, it is wrong!
But the horses that I got are capricious ones
I can't live to the end, I can't finish my song.

I will let horses drink - the couplet I will sing
For a little bit more I will stand on the brink...

We are here: nobody comes late here to greet the Lord of Heaven -
Then, why do the angels sing with voices so angry and heavy?
Or the bell does shake from weeping, weeping gently, weeping deeply,
Or I'm shouting to the horses that they do not run so quickly? 

Just a little slower, horses, little slower now!
I pray to you don't hurry along!
But the horses that I got are capricious ones
I can't live to the end, I can't finish my song.

I will let horses drink - the couplet I will sing
For a little bit more I will stand on the brink...

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Ballad about love
Russian title: Ballada o lyubvi

When waters of a flood that swept the planet
Returned once more into the ocean bed
From foam of a departing ocean current
Love climbed so quietly upon the land
And disappeared in air before its time -
And for it there are sixteen hundred times 

And some strange people - there are some such yet -
Inhale this mix with full chest that is heaving
Reward and punishment they don't await
And thinking that they are only but breathing
They do appear to breathe, or so it's seeming,
So unevenly, unevenly, at that.

Only sense, just like a river boat,
For so long, so long remains afloat,
For before I know that "I love" -
That is, that I breathe, or that I live!

And there will be enough wanderings and travels
Land of love - such a great land it is!
And it will be asking for ordeals
From its knights, before they can have bliss.
It will ask departures and despair
And deprive of calm, of sleep and peace...

But you cannot drive off the insane
From this land, they do agree to pay
Any price - their life if that is called -
Just so not to cut, to keep instead
The magical invisible thread
That is woven in between their souls....

The fresh air intoxicated them,
Knocked them from their feet, raised up again,
For if I had never ever loved -
I'd have never breathed, have never lived!

But the many that are choking on their love -
You won't reach, however you may shout...
Counted by prayer and empty word.
But this count has been mixed in blood.
And we will place candles at the head
Of ones dead from not having seen love.

Their voices have to morph in single one 
Their souls must wander in between the flowers
To breathe with the eternity at one 
To meet each other sighing in some hour
Upon the fragile bridges and roads
Upon the narrow crossroads of the world...

I will lay the fields for those in love,
Sleeping or awake, just let them sing!
I am breathing - therefore, I love!
I'm in love - and therefore, I live!

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Someone saw the fruit...
Russian title: Prervannyj polet

Someone saw the fruit, that could not get ripe
They shook the trunk - it fell, just so...
Here's the song of him who did not finish his song
And that he had a voice - he did not know.
 
Perhaps he was not on good terms with fate, 
And on bad terms with circumstance.
And the tight string lay on a fret
That was broken in single place.
 
He started shyly with note C,
But did not finish it, you see..
His music was incomplete;
Did not make anyone's soul rise..
The dog did bark, and the cat
Was hunting mice.
 
It's funny! Funny, yes it is! It is...
But he made jokes - they had no grace,
He did not finish tasting wine,
Did not even touch it to his face.

While he started the argument
Unhurried and uncertain,
Just like, on forehead, drops of sweat,
The soul did shimmer through the skin.
 
He began the duel on the rug,
Barely, barely he began.
The judge did not open the score;
And little he saw in the game.

He sought to know all of it,
But did not reach, did not...
Not till the riddle, not the root,
He did not dig until the deep,
And her, that is still by herself,
He did not finish loving!
 
It's funny! Funny, yes it is! It is.
And he did hurry - all for none.
And all that he did not resolve
Was not resolved by anyone.
 
Not with single word do I lie -
He served the pure word, poetry.
And he wrote poems on the snow -
But snows do melt beneath the trees.
 
But the snow was falling then
And the freedom to write on the snow.
And the big snowflakes and hail
He touched with his lips as he ran, so.
 
But her, the one in silver necklace
He did not reach, not at his pace...
Did not reach goal, the runner he,
Not finished flight, it was in vain,
And sign beneath which he was born
Licked the cold Milky Way.
 
It's funny! Funny, yes it is! It is
When seconds do not reach the light -
The sound that does not reach the end -
Unfinished flight, unfinished flight.
 
It's funny? Funny, well, it's so -
Funny to you, even to me.
The horse that jumps and bird that flies -
And whose fault could it be?

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* * *
Russian title: Ya ves' v svetu...

I'm in the light, open to every eye -
I do as I do often; like an icon
I come up to a microphone; today
It's more like I'm approaching a cannon.

And I will not rub against the microphone
Yes, my voice is loathsome to any
Yes, I know, if a lie comes on
It will augment it surely without pity.

Rays beneath the lamp on ribs do beat me
Lamps shimmer into the face unkindly
And projectors blind from every side
And the heat! The heat! Is blind!

Today I rant again without control,
But in the tone I don't risk making change -
For if I make a turn inside the soul
It will correct the curve with rage. 

The beast, than a blade it is more thin -
The flawless hearing, it hears lies till the iota -
It does not care that in beat I don't fit in 
But that I more completely sing the notes!

Rays beneath the lamp on ribs do beat me
Lamps shimmer into the face unkindly
And projectors blind from every side
And the heat! The heat! Is blind!

Upon the supple neck this microphone
Is rolling with its snake head;
If I get silent - it will sting
I have to sing - till stupor, till the end.

Don't move, don't touch, don't dare!
I saw the sting - you are a snake, I know!
And I am like a charmer of a snake
I do not sing, I'm putting spell upon a cobra!

Rays beneath the lamp on ribs do beat me
Lamps shimmer into the face unkindly
And projectors blind from every side
And the heat! The heat! Is blind!

It wants to eat, and with a birdling's greed 
It takes the sounds out of the mouth,
In forehead it will put nine grams of lead
I won't raise the hands - the guitar binds them!

Again it will not reach the end!
What is this microphone - who will respond!
Today it is like lamp against the face,
But I'm not holy, and there's no light from the microphone.

My melodies are simpler than the scales
But barely beating from a sure tone -
I am sickly beaten on the face
By an immobile shade of microphone

Rays beneath the lamp on ribs do beat me
Lamps shimmer into the face unkindly
And projectors blind from every side
And the heat! The heat! Is blind!

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