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Vladimir Vysotsky

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I am calm, he disclosed everything to me ...

I am calm, - He disclosed everything to me.
'Don't hide', - he ordered, - and I say:
Who offended or betrayed me, -
Will be punished by the One, whom I serve.
 
I don't know, how - a knife under the ribs,
Or burn down their house and all the property,
Or dismiss, close up the ranks, deprive of freedom ...
When - I again don't know, - during the year.
 
Or now, but maybe - already:
Fate is not to be avoided at the curve.
 
And on it's crooked way it's not to be overtaken,
Regardless also of the consequences to elapse ...
And I?- What'll I do! I am calm, about myself - at least
Throw us a shower of stones or a buck-shot.
 

Song of the sentimental boxer

A blow, a blow ... another blow ....
Again a blow - and see
Boris Butkeyev (Krasnodar)
Carried out an uppercut.
 
There he pressed me into the corner,
Where I scarcely missed being hit,
See an uppercut - I am on the floor,
I am not feeling well.
 
I thought Butkeyev smashed my jaw:
And life is good, and life is good!
 
At the counting to 'seven' I'm still lying -
My countrymen sob.
I stand up, dive, stretch -
And I get points.
 
Thats's not true, it seems like I am
Keeping my strength back till the end, -
To beat a man into the face
I couldn't do since childhood.
 
I thought Butkeyev smashed by ribs:
And life is good, and life is good!
 
On the tribune they whistle, on the tribune they howl:
'Get at him, he is a coward!'
Butkeyev forced me to a close combat -
And I pressed against the ropes.
 
But he cucceeded - he is a Sibirian,
They are persistent,
And I told him: 'Freak!
You are tired however - get a rest!'
 
But he did not listen - he breathed,
That to live is good, that life is good.
 
And he beat on and on - healthy devil! -
I see: there will be a calamity.
Boxing nevertheless is not a row, it's a sport
For the courageous and so on.
 
He hit again, twice, thrice -
I ... am lacking in strength,
The referee raised my hand,
With which I did not beat.
 
He lay and thought - that life is good.
For some it is good, and for some - damn all.
 
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I am losing the true faith

I am losing the true faith -
It hurts me over our USSR:
Examine Nasser's decoration -
The decoration doesn't suit Nasser!
 
One may even swear from the platform in bad language,
Distribute presents obliquely all over the place,
Call Nasser our brother. -
But give him the Medal Gold Star of the Hero* - that's to squander!
 
Why is no gold in the country?
Gave it away, the bastards, gave it away!
It would have been better to have given it during the war, -
And Nassers would later forgive us.
 
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The meter

He said to us over and over again: 'She is mine!'
Yes you are making me laugh, my friend, yes you are making me laugh!'
Go away lad, - you are awfully drunk, -
But then you run up against, my friend, look you run up against!'
 
But he shouted: 'Now I don't care!
Get into the taxi-cab - let's take a ride!
May the meter click - it doesn't make a difference
At the end of the way one has to pay.'
 
I am not sorry for such chaps.
'Leave sin alone!' - I repeat again.
And he - to me, and always - about her ...
'And now - no word, my friend, look no word!'
 
With the wine got my blood into the temples -
And continuously smiling,
I told him softly 'No matter whatsoever
At the end of the way one has to pay!'
 
For tears and requests I am deaf -
I desire to fight, oh how do I desire it!
Either if you want to, my friend, or if you don't want to, my friend, -
Pay the expenses, pay the expenses!
 
And life flashes by, like a silent film, -
I feel well, I want to smile, -
And the meter - clicks and clicks - yes never mind
At the end of the way one has to pay.
 
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I eat up the mess on the dish completely ...

I eat up the mess on the dish completely.
Look, people, how bravely I protest!
Though I hiccup, but I'll become hard like a Rescuer,
And was taken for this idea to a detoxification centre.
 
There began to play the music for everybody,
And old and young accustomed to keep order -
Dance generally gymnastics,
But I - fell with momentum like lumberjacks:
Play tango - I dance squating.
 
A fish-day was declared - what are we sad about?
Whiting with butter into the throat - and we keep silence like fish.
Become cheerful: whiting salmon - fraternized,
There will come a bird-day - we shall fly,
We fall down - so spirits on the injury.
 

Affairs

Affairs!
Affairs tormented me -
every day, every day, every day ...
Completely
Burnt are songs and poems -
nonsense, nonsense, nonsense!
 
The whole year
She lived - and suddenly she took,
made ready and went, -
And so -
Are again cheerful things with me.
 
Now -
At least the whole evening give,
give, give, -
Trust,
I shall only speak!
 
Out of hand,
Out of hand went affairs here badly
with me went affairs, -
And suddenly -
Burnt bursting into flames completely -
not the things, but the ashes!
 
The whole year
Lived - was - suddenly she took,
made ready and went, -
And here -
Are such sad affairs with me.
 
Now -
At least the whole evening give,
give, give, -
Trust,
I shall even speak!
 
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The locomotive rushes along valleys, ...

The locomotive rushes along valleys, along hillocks,
It rushes nobody knows whither -
The little guy named himself a cheat and thief,
And his life is an everlasting play.
 
Wait, locomotive, don't bang the wheels
Conductor put on the brakes.
I am going home to mummy with the last greetings
I want to appear in front of her eyes.
 
Don't wait for me mama, for the good son,
Your son isn't the one, how he was yesterday.
I am swallowed up by a dangerous quagmire,
And my life is an everlasting play.
 
And if they put me behind bars,
In prison I shall test the bars,
And may the moon shine with her corrupting lights,
All the same and I'll escape.
 
And if the prison guards notice,
That I, the little guy, is missing.
Alarm and a shot will be fired, and with the head down
I'll fall under the wall of the prison.
 
I shall be in a bed of the prison,
I shall lie and die.
And you'll not come, my dear mummy,
To kiss me before my death.
 
The locomotive rushes along valleys, along hillocks,
It rushes nobody knows whither.
I am going home to mummy, ill and hungry,
I hurry to appear in front of her eyes.
 
Wait locomotive, don't bang the wheels.
It is time to look fate into the eyes.
It's not too late to make a stop.
Conductor, put on the brakes.
 

The wooden costumes

How we all tend to be merry and sullen,
But if we must choose and choosing is difficult,
We choose the wooden costumes,
People, people ...
 
To us will long be suggested - not to miscalculate.
- Oh! - it is said, - what do you say, you haven't lived yet!
You must only-only begin ... -
Now, and then will be offered: either - or.
 
Either beaches, viewing of exhibitions or even
Steamships, with filled holds,
Carriages, horse races, tours, voyages ...
Or simply - the wooden costumes.
 
And they will be merry and sullen,
And they will be in the roles of the bad buffoons or good judges,
But us will be offered the wooden costumes,
People, people ...
 
Us may even be offered to smoke.
- Oh! - they remember, - you however have long not smoked.
Yes, you already not began to live ... -
Now, and then will be offered: either - or.
 
The smoke of a cigarette casts something ...
One inhaling - the thoughts get merrier.
The desire to smoke, oh, smoking desire!
But one must select the wooden costumes.
 
They will be polite and gentle so much -
A happy life will be offered on a dish.
But we shall refuse ... And beat them brutally,
People, people, people ...
 
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The parrot's song

Listen all of you - oho-ho, eheh-hey!
I am, a parrot - pirate of the seas:
 
I was born in the year one thousand some time
In the banana-liana thicket,
My papa was a parrot cockatoo,
At the time not a speaking one yet.
 
But I soon abandoned the virgin forest:
Was captivated by the awful Hernan Cortes, -
He began to shout at my poor papa,
But he could not answer Hernan.
He couldn't, was unable to answer.
 
To take revenge - the whole night through
I learnt three words, together only three.
Obstinately I forced myself - to repeat:
Caramba!', 'Corrida!' and 'Go to hell!'
 
Listen all of you, - oho-ho, eheh-hey!
I am, a parrot - the pirate of the seas.
 
A storm has caught us on the way back,
It was especially hard on me.
An English frigate under the name of 'Brig'
Boarded our vessel.
 
There was a fight hand to hand for three nights, two days -
And the wicked pirate captivated me.
So I began to swim on various vessels,
In the region of the equator in the northward ice.
On various pirate vessels.
 
They gave me coffee, cocoa, to eat,
To welcome them with 'How do you do?'
But I repeated the whole night through:
'Caramba!', Corrida!' and 'Go to hell!'
 
Listen all of you, oho-ho, eheh-hey!
I am, a parrot - the pirate of the seas.
 
Hundred years I swam as a pirate and what now?
A good for nothing sailor
Sold me in slavery for a broken half-kopek piece,
And I was already a speaking one.
 
A Turkish pasha broke the knife in two,
When I said to him: 'Pasha salam!'
And the pasha simply fainted,
When he noticed, that I already write,
Speak, sing and cry.
 
I saw India, China and the Iraque.
I am an individual, not a Polly-fool.
Thus only thinks a savage.
Caramba!, Corrida! and Go to hell!
 

Storks

The sky on this day - is clear,
But now there are armours rattling.
And above our earth - droning began,
And the trees in the tar - are sad.
 
Smoke and ashes stand like crosses,
Nests on the roofs are not built by the storks.
 
Spike - in the colour of amber - are we managing?
No! In vain, face it, we sowed.
What's there in those colours of amber shining?
That's like fields on fire cracking.
Dispersed to all sides from calamity ...
There are no more singing birds - but crows!
 
And the trees are in dust in the autumn.
These, that are able to sing - stopped it.
And love is not for us, - that's true indeed,
What is more important now than hatred?
 
Smoke and ashes stand like crosses,
Nests on the roofs are not built by the storks.
 
The wood makes a noise like always, in the tree-tops,
And the earth and water - moan,
But without a miracle - it doesn't work.
The prewar wood sounds.
 
They dragged themselves away from calamity to the east,
There are no more singing birds, no storks
 
In the air are preserved noises diversely
But now in there is - roaring, clanking.
Even clatter of horses' hoofs,
If someone begins to shout - then in a whisper.
 
They dragged themselves away from calamity to the east, -
And above the roofs there are no storks ...
 

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