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Магадан | My friend has moved to Magadan | Magadan

My friend has moved to Magadan Igor Kochanowski My friend has moved to Magadan; Play him a fanfare, play him a fanfare. He went himself, his own free man; He wasn't sent there, he wasn't sent there. It wasn't that his luck turned bad Or done to make somebody mad; It wasn't part of some big act: He simply packed, he simply packed. If someone asked him: "What's it for? Why just abandon your life at random? The jails have killers by the score - That's where they crammed "em, that's where they crammed' em!" He'd shrug - "Whatever people say There's more in Moscow anyway" - Then pack up everything he can For Magadan, for Magadan. I wouldn't say my race is run: I'd jump the night train like in the old days; But I won't go to Magadan Leaving my old ways, starting a new phase. I'll sing, my guitar on my knee, Of all the things he's going to see Of all that's left unseen, undone, Of Magadan, of Magadan. My friend had nothing left to lose; It's his decision, it's his decision; He won't be beaten by the screws - He's not in prison, he's not in prison. But God has made for me a plan... Or should I go to Magadan? And like my friend just go to ground And make no sound. © Margaret & Stas Porokhnya. Translation, 2007 www.wysotsky.com en.wikipedia.org it.wikipedia.org it.wikipedia.org
Категория: Music
Время: 00:01:38.250
Теги: Vladimir Vysotsky Владимир Высоцкий Игорю Кохановскому Магадан Igor Kochanowski Magadan
 

Я не люблю | I hate | Non mi piace | 1969

I hate I hate the fatal end - its so clear, Life never makes me tired, faint or blue, And I do hate each season of the year When I dont sing my merry songs to you. I hate the guy whos cynical and cold; Im rather cautious seeing too much glee; I hate to see the lad so rude and bold, Who reads my letters peeping over me. Im full of bile when things are half-completed, To cut the talk abruptly - its a shame! To shoot in someones back is mean and bitter, To shoot the man point blank is just the same! Conceit and vanity, I think, are both rotten - Id rather have a car with no brakes... Its a disgrace that honor is forgotten But in the race of life the squealers win the stakes For gossip, tittle-tattle I dont care, I hate both wavering and grandeur-gaining fuss, I hate it when Im stroked against the hair, I hate to see how iron crushes glass. The broken wings in me wake no compassion, Though I am not too callous or too hard; And though I hate depression and aggression, The martyrdom of Christ still breaks my heart. I hate myself when I get feet so cold That I can watch how innocents are hit... I hate it when they break into my soul, And hate it when into my soul they spit. I hate it when true art is turned to vending, When tawdry jesters fortunes dissipate... And even if great changes are impending, Ill never fall in love with what I hate! Non mi piace Non mi piace la fatalità Della vita non mi stanco, anche quando sono malato. Non mi piace la stagione, Quando non si cantano ...
Категория: Music
Время: 00:01:23.250
Теги: bard Wysocki Vladimir Semënovič Vysotskij Vysotsky Я не люблю hate No me gusta Je naime pas Влади́мир Семёнович Высоцкий Ja ne ljublju Vissotski Magnitizdat visotskij אני לא אוהב
 

Прощание с горами | A farewell to the mountains | Addio ai monti

A farewell to the mountains Down to cities, to cars, to the life, dull and bleak We are getting ahead - as if losing the goals... But we always come back from the mountain peak Which we conquered and where we left our souls. Drop your disputes of no account - I've proved all to myself and can bet: Better than all the mounts is the Mount, Which nobody has mounted yet! So many a hope, so many a song Mountains rouse in us, begging us not to go, But we always come back - for a break or for long Since we have to return - it's a must to do so. Drop your disputes of no account - I've proved all to myself and can bet: Better than all the mounts is the Mount, Which nobody has mounted yet! Who would want to remain all alone in a fix? Who would want to ignore his heart's call, soft and tender? But we always come back from the mountain peaks - Even gods from the mountains sometimes descended... Drop your disputes of no account - I've proved all to myself and can bet: Better than all the mounts is the Mount, Which nobody has mounted yet! © George Tokarev. Translation, 2001 Edited by Robert Titterton www.wysotsky.com
Категория: Film & Animation
Время: 00:01:53.250
Теги: Vladimir Semënovič Vysotskij Влади́мир Семёнович Высоцкий Addio ai monti Прощание с горами farewell to the mountains
 

Высоцкий: "Райские яблоки"-5 (4:36).

Я когда-то умру - мы когда-то всегда умираем,- Как бы так угадать, чтоб не сам - чтобы в спину ножом: Убиенных щадят, отпевают и балуют раем,- Не скажу про живых, а покойников мы бережем. В грязь ударю лицом, завалюсь покрасивее набок, И ударит душа на ворованных клячах в галоп. В дивных райских садах наберу бледно-розовых яблок. Жаль, сады сторожат и стреляют без промаха в лоб. Прискакали - гляжу - пред очами не райское что-то: Неродящий пустырь и сплошное ничто - беспредел. И среди ничего возвышались литые ворота, И огромный этап - тысяч пять - на коленях сидел. Как ржанет коренной! Я смирил его ласковым словом, Да репьи из мочал еле выдрал и гриву заплел. Седовласый старик слишком долго возился с засовом - И кряхтел и ворчал, и не смог отворить - и ушел. И измученный люд не издал ни единого стона, Лишь на корточки вдруг с онемевших колен пересел. Здесь малина, братва,- нас встречают малиновым звоном! Все вернулось на круг, и распятый над кругом висел. Всем нам блага подай, да и много ли требовал я благ? Мне - чтоб были друзья, да жена - чтобы пала на гроб,- Ну а я уж для них наберу бледно-розовых яблок. Жаль, сады сторожат и стреляют без промаха в лоб. Я узнал старика по слезам на щеках его дряблых: Это Петр Святой - он апостол, а я - остолоп. Вот и кущи-сады, в коих прорва мороженных яблок. Но сады сторожат - и убит я без промаха в лоб. И погнал я коней прочь от мест этих гнилых и зяблых,- Кони просят овсу, но и я закусил удила. Вдоль обрыва с кнутом по-над пропастью ...
Категория: Music
Время: 00:03:27
Теги: высоцкий
 

Высоцкий: "Корабли постоят.."(Прощание) -1967.

ПРОЩАНИЕ. Корабли постоят и ложатся на курс, Но они возвращаются сквозь непогоды. Не пройдет и полгода - и я появлюсь, Чтобы снова уйти, чтобы снова уйти на полгода. Возвращаются все, кроме лучших друзей, Кроме самых любимых и преданных женщин. Возвращаются все, - кроме тех, кто нужней. Я не верю судьбе, я не верю судьбе, а себе - еще меньше. Но мне хочется думать, что это не так, - Что сжигать корабли скоро выйдет из моды. Я, конечно, вернусь, весь в друзьях и мечтах. Я, конечно, спою, я, конечно, спою, - не пройдет и полгода. 1966.
Категория: Music
Время: 00:01:48
Теги: высоцкий прощание
 

"Антисемит" - An Antisemite's song - Владимир Высоцкий

A song is not anti-Semitic. Look at this link: www.jewishgen.org Vysotsky is ironic. An antisemites song Im tired of being a gangster and bandit, Ill join anti-Semites - its cool, safe and splendid! They have on their side no laws and no orders, But peoples support of these folks has no borders. I made up my mind - and someone will be battered, But who are these Semites - I must know better. Perhaps, they are people quite decent and fair, To touch those people, of course, I dont dare. But one of my buddies, a boozer and cripple, Explained that these Semites are Jews - its so simple! Its fortune, its luck, so rare and dear, I worry no more, since Ive nothing to fear! On my reputation there was no swine stain - I always respected this guy Albert Einstein, Excuse me for being too tough and too vicious, But Lincolns first name sounds very suspicious Among them there are victims of hitlerism, Among them this crank who made up communism, You see those Jews everywhere around, Including my fave, Charlie Chaplin, the clown. But that old boozer - he told me, inspired, That Jews suck our Christian blood like vampires, And when we were drinking one man let me know That they crucified Jesus Christ long ago. They tortured to death in the zoo poor camels These Jews feed on blood like on milk do the mammals, I know these Jews stole bread from the nation To cause epidemics and widespread starvation. They grab all the best, and they win all the tosses;Theyve built classy villas and live ...
Категория: Music
Время: 00:02:07.500
Теги: Vladimir Semënovič Vysotskij Влади́мир Семёнович Высоцкий Антисемит An antisemites song Una canzone antisemita lyrics Vysotsky bard Wysocki Vissotski Magnitizdat Jewish Hebrew anti-Semitism אַנטיסעמיטן Antisemiternas visotskij אנטישמי
 

Сентиментальный боксер - A song about a sentimental boxer

A hook, a swing, a heavy straight - Im cracking like a nut... My vis-a-vis, a welterweight, Hits hard an upper-cut. He corners me, he hits me more, I hardly hold on... Another hook - Im on the floor, And I am almost gone. My rival was thinking while mincing my face: Boy, life is so cool and I am the ace! The ref yells Nine! - Im half alive, But I get up again... I dodge, I leap, I block, I dive And even points I gain! Its not that for the final phase My vigor I reserve. Ive never hit somebodys face - Just havent got the nerve! My rival was thinking while mincing my face: Boy, life is so cool and I am the ace! The crowd roars: Dont yield an inch! Knock out this timid dope! My rival gets into a clinch And I cling to a rope! He works non-stop, hes real tough, He saves no jabs, no whacks; I whispered then: Youve toiled enough, Youre tired, man, relax! But he went on thinking still mincing my face: Boy, life is so cool and I am the ace! He keeps on punching with a snort, The curtain soon must fall... Dont call this murder - its the sport Of manliness and all... He tried too hard and in the end, Exhausted, down he broke... The referee raised up my hand Which had produced no stroke! He was now lying and thought: Life is cool, But one is quite smart and another - a fool! Un colpo, un colpo... un altro colpo... Ancora un colpo - e Boris Butkeev (Krasnodar) Piazza un suo uppercut. Mi spinge nell'angolo, Sfuggo... Ma un suo uppercut mi stende a terra E non mi sento affatto bene! E ...
Категория: Music
Время: 00:00:56.250
Теги: מכה ושוב Сентиментальный боксер song about sentimental boxer Il pugile sentimentale Vladimir Semënovič Vysotskij Влади́мир Семёнович Высоцкий
 

Высоцкий: "Райские яблоки-4"(4:13).

Я когда-то умру - мы когда-то всегда умираем,- Как бы так угадать, чтоб не сам - чтобы в спину ножом: Убиенных щадят, отпевают и балуют раем,- Не скажу про живых, а покойников мы бережем. В грязь ударю лицом, завалюсь покрасивее набок, И ударит душа на ворованных клячах в галоп. В дивных райских садах наберу бледно-розовых яблок. Жаль, сады сторожат и стреляют без промаха в лоб. Прискакали - гляжу - пред очами не райское что-то: Неродящий пустырь и сплошное ничто - беспредел. И среди ничего возвышались литые ворота, И огромный этап - тысяч пять - на коленях сидел. Как ржанет коренной! Я смирил его ласковым словом, Да репьи из мочал еле выдрал и гриву заплел. Седовласый старик слишком долго возился с засовом - И кряхтел и ворчал, и не смог отворить - и ушел. И измученный люд не издал ни единого стона, Лишь на корточки вдруг с онемевших колен пересел. Здесь малина, братва,- нас встречают малиновым звоном! Все вернулось на круг, и распятый над кругом висел. Всем нам блага подай, да и много ли требовал я благ? Мне - чтоб были друзья, да жена - чтобы пала на гроб,- Ну а я уж для них наберу бледно-розовых яблок. Жаль, сады сторожат и стреляют без промаха в лоб. Я узнал старика по слезам на щеках его дряблых: Это Петр Святой - он апостол, а я - остолоп. Вот и кущи-сады, в коих прорва мороженных яблок. Но сады сторожат - и убит я без промаха в лоб. И погнал я коней прочь от мест этих гнилых и зяблых,- Кони просят овсу, но и я закусил удила. Вдоль обрыва с кнутом по-над пропастью ...
Категория: Music
Время: 00:03:09.750
Теги: высоцкий я когда то умру
 

Так дымно... | IT'S SO SMOKY... | HUMO | FUMO

IT'S SO SMOKY... Its smoky, so smoky the mirrors grown dim now And faces just opposite seem indistinct; And couples have no more desire to spin round, But still to the end of my song I will sing. The notes that were needed have long been played out, The wine in the glass burned so strong its flames out, The minute-long urge to explain has passed, And Id better silently drain my glass. The weathers not spoilt us with sun for a half-year, And under the ice crust lie frozen numb souls; Ive waited in vain so it seems for the thaw here And memories cant be warmed up in the cold. The notes that were needed have long been played out, The wine in the glass burned so strong its flames out, The minute-long urge to explain has passed, And Id better silently drain my glass. So weary, the orchestra loses its timing, The circle is closing, I cant break the ring. Stay calm now! Id much better take my leave smiling But still to the end of my song I will sing. The notes that were needed have long been played out, The wine in the glass burned so strong its flames out, The mirrors grins darken, their passions passed, And I would do better to smash my glass. FUMO Il fumo mi ha rubato il riflesso nello specchio Sono stanco di nere coppie che rimangono in silenzio a ballare all'infinito. La mia canzone, sottofondo di una coltre di nebbia, Ma ancora, alla fine del mio canto, voglio cantare. Le note necessarie sono state a lungo maltrattate, Bruciate, affogate nel bicchiere, Il mio tono di voce ...
Категория: Music
Время: 00:02:46.500
Теги: Так дымно... Humo It's so smoky... Fumo Vladimir Semënovič Vysotskij Влади́мир Семёнович Высоцкий lyrics vysotsky bard Wysocki Vissotski Magnitizdat premio Tenco 1993 Flaco Biondini visotskij
 

Il volo interrotto | Прерванный полет | An interrupted flight

An interrupted flight Someone spotted a fruit, so green, so thin; From a tree it was shaken and fell, it fell... Heres a song how a guy failed to sing, to sing Never using his voice which was swell, quite swell... He was never among Fortunes pets, pets, And for him luck was pie in the sky, in the sky; And the strings that he strung on the frets, on the frets With a latent defect then would lie... He started with the note do, But failed to finish, failed to do... To dot the is and cross the ts, the ts, He lit no fire in the dark, in the dark... A cat was licking off the fleas And dogs would bark... Its funny, isnt it? It is, it is! He started joking - failed to end, Hed rather speed but had to freeze, Hed rather rise but had to bend! He had only begun the initial round, round, He was playing the opening set, set, He had just finished looking around, around, And the ref was not counting yet. Though, of course, he expected to win, to win - He was hesitant, slow and meek, too meek... Hardly seen, from all pores in his skin, his skin Just like sweatdrops his soul would leak, would leak. The whole world from A to Z He craved to know, but failed to see, To seize the answer, to have won A long-desired wisdom pool. And she, who was the only one, Did not receive his love in full! Its funny, isnt it? It is, it is! He hurried, but was late a bit, No one can cope with the quiz - That quiz that he could not complete. In no word, in no line do I lie, oh, no! Strong addiction to Beauty ...
Категория: Music
Время: 00:03:19.500
Теги: Vladimir Semënovič Vysotskij Влади́мир Семёнович Высоцкий lyrics Vysotsky bard Wysocki Vissotski Magnitizdat Прерванный полет Il volo interrotto An interrupted flight Le vol arrêté Francesco Guccini premio Tenco 1993 di volodja אולי הגורל התפספס...
 
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