| Владимир Семёнович Высоцкий - Кони привередливые - (The Fastidious Horses) A Translation by Maya Jouravel: By the cliff, along the precipice, right over deadly ground, With the whip, I strike my steeds; strike them hard to urge them forward. I am getting short on air, gulp the haze, drink the wind, yet With a fatal rapture, sensing: I am done for, I am done for! Slow down a bit my horses, slow down, please! Don't you listen to my stinging thong! But the horses -- just my luck! -- are so hard to please! Neither lived I so long, nor will I finish this song... I will let horses drink, I'll complete this refrain, Just a little bit more I will stay on the brink... I will vanish from the Earth, swept by a storm like fluffy feather; At a gallop, in the morning by the snow they'll drag me over Can't you please prolong my journey to the end of my tether? Can't you ease your dash, my horses, carry on a little slower? Slow down a bit my horses, slow down, please! Don't take orders from my whip and thong! But the horses -- just my luck! -- are so hard to please! Neither lived I so long, nor will I finish this song... I will let horses drink, I'll complete this refrain, Just a little bit more I will stay on the brink... Just on time - one can't be late arriving at God's quarters! Why do the angels over there sound like some nasty mortals? Or, perhaps, it's just a sleigh-bell that's gone mad and burst out sobbing, Or it's me shouting at my steeds to slow down my sled from dashing. Slow ... |
