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Black pea-coats

Versions: #3
We left behind us all falls and sundowns,
Just hope for the minuscule, almost invisible rise!
I want to believe that our black pea-coats
Will give opportunity to see this sunrise.
 
Today we got orders: Die like true heroes!
We'll try! - but we could not guarantee.
I only thought, smoking borrowed cigarettes:
Each man on his own, - sunrise what matters to me.
 
Special company - sapper's special esteem.
Don't slash with a knife from the ambush unseen,
Don't trouble yourself - even with a throat cut
I will see sunrise as my final result.
 
We strolled through their rear, avoiding to cut them in slumber,
And cleared the passage, when I noted in surprise,
How immature, green, but wakeful sunflower
Already had turned its head to sunrise.
 
Behind at six thirty were left - I know,-
Not only falls and declines, but also reached height.
Teeth grinding, two bare wires are cleaned to go, -
Have not seen the sunrise, but knew: it is close to daylight.
 
... Depleted company returning severed.
What happened - doesn't matter, matters blown up fort.
I want to believe that our rough endeavor
Grants you opportunity to see sunrise with no effort.
 

I have left Russia, I do not exist...

I have left Russia, I do not exist, -
My girls are all in snot and tears today!
And now I plant my sunflower seeds
On a foreign Champs-Élysée
 
At *Presnya, someone in the tram have blathered on :
'Finally, he took off, he disappeared!
So, let him his foreign songs
Write about the Palace of Versailles, over there'.
 
I can hear behind exchange of the news:
' But he is not the one! That one has left, ask him!'
'Ah, he is not the one? - and giving their elbows some use,
And seating on their knees in the taxi.
 
The one, I did time with in Magadan,
From civil war my little friend-
Telling, that I write to him: 'Ivan!
I'm bored, Vanya, common, bro, join the rank!'
 
That I'm already asked to return-
Humiliated myself, sucked up and begged...
Nonsense! It probably, was never on, -
Because I have never left!
 
Those who believed, the presents they have earned, -
So, like in a movie, to have a happy end:
Take with you Arc de Triomphe,
Quickly pounce on Reno plant!
 
I'm laughing so hard, I try not to piss:
How did they believe in this rave?
Do not worry, I didn't go to Paris,
And do not hope, I'm not going away!
 

The end of the ball

The end of the ball
Just as a fruit falls before it could ripen
Blame it on man, blame it on the wind
Just as a man who sees himself dying and knows
He will never have enough time
 
One more day, and he could have sung
Blame destiny, blame luck
Blame it on his broken strings
His song will be called silence
 
He can always start one
But nobody will ever dance on it
 
Nobody will chant with him
He will never finish anything
Except that wound in his heart
And that life
 
But why. I would like to know why... Why?
The end of the ball comes too fast.
Birds, not bullets
May be stopped in mid-flight.
 
Just as these quarrels starting at night
Blame the night, blame alcohol
Of which nothing will remain
Except a few butts on the floor
 
He would have however loved to stab
Blame the knife, blame fear
He will never have shed blood in a fight
Only time for some sweat
 
He who wanted to know everything
He wasn't even able to see everything
 
He who had love deep inside
For the only girl he might have kept
He sent her back
Without a kiss, without touching her, just thinking of it, till death
 
But why. I would like to know why... Why?
The end of the ball comes too fast.
Birds, not bullets
May be stopped in mid-flight.
 
He wrote as you get out of a trap
Blame the sun, blame the torments
But as he wrote on the snow
His ideas melted in Spring
 
And when snow covered his page
Blame the cold weather, blame winter
Instead of writing, he tried, good luck,
To catch snowflakes in the air
 
But today, it's too late
He will never have taken the start
And he will be remembered only
Through the song of before the fight
 
Of the escapee who will never have
Reached his aim
 
But why. I would like to know why... Why?
The end of the ball comes too fast.
Birds, not bullets
May be stopped in mid-flight.
 
Birds, not bullets
May be stopped in mid-flight.
 

Cheshire Cat's song

Versions: #2
Pray remember, those many now acquainted with me,
Cheshire Cat is not the one to let loose his tongue.
Named aptly for “To grin like a Cheshire Cat”,
He is the magic cat who can disappear just like that.
 
The wider mouth, the wider gets Cheshire Cat.
Although common cats origins are ancient,
Cheshire Cat is different from that -
Don't count him as a domesticated pet.
 
Smiley and purry, familiars to many,
Cheshire cats are responsive and friendly.
The other cats smile, but not quite like that,
So scratch behind the ear your Cheshire Cat.
 
The wider mouth, the wider gets Cheshire Cat.
Although common cats origins are ancient,
Cheshire Cat is different from that -
Don't count him as a domesticated pet.
 
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The objective is to further human understanding so my feeble attempts are not copyrighted.

Commentator in his booth...

Commentator in his booth was a screamer
Saying nicely our team as bad as it gets,-
So why than club 'Fiorentina'
Offered a million for *Byshovets.
 
Well, Pele is like Pele,
I'm explaining to my Zina,
Pele eats creme brulee,
Together with Jairzinho.
 
The Prosecutor's office is investigating *MUR,-
He is so glad, for him it's only an ad!
Here the world wouldn't get out from MUR-
If we would've here the World cup.
 
I have not a penny left, ale, ale, ale,-
Bought my wife some rubbish, used my last dinero.
But Pele has a 'chevrolet'
In Rio de Janeiro.
 
And maybe, he does not count to a hundred, like you and I,-
But I can say it just in a few words:
If Tostao had a second eye-
He would've scored twice as many goals.
 
Well, Pele is like Pele,
I'm explaining to my Zina,
Pele eats creme brulee,
Together with Jairzinho.
 
I have not a penny left, ale, ale, ale,-
Bought my wife some rubbish, used my last dinero.
But Pele has a 'chevrolet'
In Rio de Janeiro.
 

Though in our century there is nothing to surprise us...

Though in our century there is nothing to surprise us, or to shock,
But for that we weren't ready,-
The dolphins learned to talk!
And the first phrase was:' People, you are crazy!'
 
The scientists were freaking out,
'Come on, repeat!' they exclaimed,
And same again:' People, what are you!..' they shout,
And furthermore:' People what are you doing, are you insane?
 
Soon you won't reap your fruits, and what then?
Well, we will find some disposition...-
But after all, you have a grudge against the ants,
And you have the mosquitos under suspicion...'
 
Lilly himself hid in the water all the ends,
But the press doom and gloom announcing,
That among the dolphins there are wise men,
And there are *hunveybins among the dolphins.
 
Yesterday I drunk a small carafe at local Inn
And, God knows, just for a moment I left my post.
And here you are, one notorious dolphin
Screamed:' Down with communications!' and got lost.
 
And when the second dolphin caught up with his mate
And tried to convince him:' Renounce sedition, you fool',
He also called him renegade
And to top it, he shouted: ' You are a hummel bull!'
 

They say arrested...

They say arrested was
A kind lad, was taken in
for three words,-
They say arrested was
Mishka Larin
for three words.
 
They say, the lawyer didn't help him,
I wouldn't lie,-
Mishka Larin, as the worst criminal that has ever been
Was certified.
 
It is a true injustice after all!
 
I say: not guilty,
After all, not out of malice,
After all, it's the wine to blame!..
I say: not guilty,
And to defame-
what kind of news is this!
 
I say, that Mishka wouldn't rise a hand
on that bitch,-
So give Mishka a bail, don't put him in the prison van-
here, let's shake a hand on it!
 
Otherwise, it is a true injustice after all!
 
They say, before the wedding
He will return,
before the wedding,-
What if it would be you send in,
What if it was you
left to rot!
 
What if it was you send to Kamchatka, to Kamchatka-
and given prison bunks to lie.-
You should've feel sorry for our *Mishatka,
you should've cried!..
 
Otherwise, it is a true injustice after all!
 
I say: defend the guy!
I repeat: it's not fare
on parole, release!
If you are so stingy, and deny-
I declare:
Just you wait, you bitches!
 
Like a ton of bricks I'll come down! Like a ton of bricks
I'll come down!
I won't forget my friend Mishka- and I'll bury you all
under the ground!
 
Otherwise, it is a true injustice after all!
 

If I would be physically weak...

Versions: #2
If I would be physically weak-
I would be morally stable, I think,-
No way I would sleep with the chicks,
Not a gram of alcohol I would drink!
 
If I were physically strong fellow-
Then I would- I don't even want to go there!-
I would drink the liquid with abundant flow
But... the Sheila's-not a chance , I swear!
 
But what if I'm an average guy-
What can I do, what do you think?
I can't ignore the woman, can I?
I can't, as well, not to have a drink!..
 

From behind the mountain, I don't know, ...

From behind the mountain - I don't know, where there these montains are,
He arrived on a white camel,
He went into the suffocating town -
And was noticed by the people.
 
And the untalented crowd of people
With their lives carefree (and) unstable
He affected with his calm, strange
And such an incomprehensible smile.
 
As if he knew something hidden,
As if he heard something most important,
As if he had seen the brightest,
As if he felt all infinity.
 
And enraging the crowd of the restaurant
With their lives soundly unstable
And that he smiled so strangely
And such an incomprehensible smile.
 
And all heroes we dethroned,
Proved their thoughts to be criminal,
Proved beautiful women
As cold and unapproachable.
 
And the untalented crowd of people beseeched -
This gray soulless mass, -
That he'll say to them the most essentials,
And opened up for the most necessaries.
 
And forgetting all precious dispair,
On its place came all anew:
He told them three most affectionate
And long forgotten (words).
 

In the kingdom of trolls, the main troll ...

In the kingdom of trolls, the main troll
And citizen
Was, of course, the king himself -
Only he alone.
 
It happened that he was really cruel -
Often whipped!
He was terribly truthful
This king.
 
Ten time per hour he got angry
Poor king.
Every evening he set
A new password.
 
He began to beat his subjects
To the last.
It's true, he loved the truth
Most al all.
 
Maybe somebody will the truth
Tell him secretly,
But under the cruel king
Were no fools.
 
And the king called - what fun! -
Competition of buffoons:
Who makes faces most successfully
Money or stof.
 
What a goal? And in the joke is salt,
A quota of truth is there.
The king learned the truth
Of trivialities.
 
But ever more they writhed
Soon were finished!
And mournfully ended
The competition of the fools.
 

Parable about Truth and Falsehood

Delicate Truth dressed in the beautiful clothes,
To the pitiful, orphans, and cripples to bring some delight.
Coarse Falsehood this Truth to its home once lures
Like: hey, why don't you stay with me overnight!
 
And trusting Truth went to sleep like a baby,
Drooling and smiling happily in her dreams.
Sneaky Falsehood for herself pulled the blanket,
Bit into the Truth and, till quite satisfied, had her fill.
 
Falsehood got up and made ugly faces -
Woman like woman, nothing special here to behold?!
There isn't any difference visible between them,
Of course, that's if you view them in nude, I'm told.
 
Golden ribbons from braids were cunningly taken,
Falsehood took Truth's clothes which happened to fit.
Money took and her watch, along with all identifications,
Falsehood spit, roughly cursed, and finally split.
 
It was in the morning when Truth realized what was stollen
And surprised, she looked at herself, business-like, -
Someone already somewhere got hold of the black tar,
Smeared clean Truth, but it could have been worse.
 
Truth kept laughing when they threw at her stones
- it's all Falsehood, and what she wears is my own clothes!...
Two blessed colleagues were making reports
All the while cursing Truth with a string of bad words.
 
Bitch they called her, and worse than bitch
They smeared her with tar, sicked the dogs after her.
So there wouldn't be a trace of her stay,
She is to be evicted, sent away within a day.
 
That report ended with the hurtful tirade
(By the way, Truth was charged with an extra, if not her own, offense):
They say, some scum calls herself Truth,
But she got so drunk that she woke up in the nude.
 
Naked Truth wept, swore her innocence, denied accusations,
For a long time, she was sick, vagabond, penniless.
Dirty Falsehood, having a thoroughbred stollen,
Galloped away on the Arabian's long and thin legs.
 
Some odd-ball till this day still fights for the Truth, -
Although, his speeches, they have little worth.
- Pure Truth, the time of her triumph will be certain to come,
If only she would do all that the Falsehood has done.
 
Frequently, sharing a bottle with brothers,
You won't even know where you'll crash for the night.
You might lose your clothes - this is pure truth, friends!
Lo and behold, your pants are worn by the underhanded Falsehood,
Lo and behold, your watch tells time to the treacherous Falsehood,
Lo and behold, your noble steed carries the insidious Falsehood.
 
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Visitation from a muse

I'll explode now like three hundred tons of TNT,
Within, the charge of the uncreative iniquity:
Today, I had a visit from a Muse,
She stayed a while, then left, lighting the fuse.
 
She solid reasons had -
I have no right to whine -
Imagine: Muse... At night... With a man!
God knows just what about her will be said then.
 
And still I feel lonely and quite vexed:
That same Muse - as people can confirm! -
For days with poet Block she stayed,
And with Pushkin lived - never to adjourn.
 
All impatience, I to the table rushed,
But, God, save me and grant my soul mercy,
She left, and inspiration turned to dust. Vanished
Along with some money: that must've been for a taxi.
 
In fury, like an animal, I thrash about,
But blessed be the Muse - her I forgave
She left me for someone else:
Most likely, i didn't treat her well.
 
Giant cake, stuck with dripping candles,
Withered from grief, and so have I dried up.
The cognac that was meant for Muse,
With neighbors, bastards, I drank up.
 
Years have passed, like blacklisted people, -
All is in the past, I'm yawning filled with ennui.
Wordlessly, she left without a goodbye,
All that was left of her - just a couple lines.
 
Only a couplet - I'm a genius, doubts be gone,
Bestow elation, laurels, and flowers:
'I remember that wondrous moment,
When you appeared before me'!
 
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The objective is to further human understanding so my feeble attempts are not copyrighted.

The sorcerer of the punctuation marks ...

The sorcerer of the punctuation marks and the letters of the alphabet,
The dash off unprintable words
The trawl stole for the magical catch
The rhyme and contrary ideas.
 
We are clumsy, we are hapless,
Go and fall all over Russia ...
Others will come still more lyrically,
But those won't be we, but the others.
 
Racing driver, barge hawler and cowboy,
Contempt smooth surfaces of the plateau,
In the world of feasible phantasmagoria
You conduct as the first the bunch behind you!
 
You moan personally of these bitter ones,
The best lines in the world! Which ones? -
Others will come, still more lyrically,
But those won't be we, but others.
 
There will come meticulous ones 'not like others',
They are good, the verses are bad.
 

I shall tell you what will be ...

I shall tell you what will be,
Open for you such distant spots! ..
May the historians condemn me
For the incomprehension of the spiral.
 
On its own circle will return
Hurricanes late and early,
And, like a girth of white peppermint
Ice tightens the paunch of the ocean.
 
Black, lilac coloured
Sleep will come and close the heavy eyelids, -
And they all - good and bad ones -
Will be happy forever.
 
It will be so and not otherwise,
I cannot say when, but I know - it will be thus.
If northern people cry,
That means, southern people will soon cry.
 
And then there are no Dschingis Khans' hordes,
And no rattle of sabres, no clatter of horses' hoofs -
Billions of drained glasses
Will overflow the sinful earth.
 

In the distant constellation of Tau Kita

Everything became for us unclear,
In Tau Kita, the distant constellation,-
We sending the signal:' What's going on there?'-
And they send us back:' F...' I'd rather not mention.
 
On Tau Kita
They running of room on this star-
They, by the way, live differently-
Our friends with the same mentality.
 
Here I'm, moving with the speed of light
Without a sweat, but with some help from above,
Towards that Tau Kita, precisely I fly,
So I can right there sort it out .
 
On Tau Kita
Something is wrong with the star-
There, the taukitaiskiy* brotherhood
Gone crazy,- as we understood.
 
While I lie in suspended animation,
Those taukitans are brawling,-
Ever less I've with them communication:
They are such hooligans, it's their calling.
 
The taukitans alphabet
Has only few words, it must be said-
And their order is bourgeois,
Their humor is ugly by far.
 
I landed my starship, like my own but,
Slightly bending the reflector though.
I shouted in taukitans:'Vivat!'
In our language it is 'Hello!'
 
The taukitans love to cheat,
All their appearance is a deceit,-
We can't compete against them there:
They can appear and then dissolve in the air...
 
To me taukitans- like papuan for you-
They were mentioned to me only briefly, I think,
I shouted:' The Galaxy is ashamed of you!'-
In reply they winked me with something.
 
On Tau Kita,
The conditions are tough:
It's stuffy here, there is no atmosphere,-
But taukitans are friendly and fair.
 
In the heat of the moment I screamed: f---k y---r mo----r, something like that!..
But my cibernetic guide did well
So precisely translated what I have said,
That I was ashamed of myself.
 
But taukitans
Are such a scum-
Perhaps, they managed to fill themselves with alcohol:
They appear, or quickly dissolved...
 
' You're men, I scream, you're brothers by sex!
So why...' then my voice disappeared.
I grabbed taukitan woman by the breasts:
Come on,- I'm saying,- confess, my dear!...
 
'Go away!': she said-
Sort off, we're way ahead-
We don't want to do anything with men,-
And from now on, we'll use agamobium!*
 
I don't remember how my starship left the planet,
In a drinking mode I'm flying:
The Earth must have moved three hundred years ahead
According to wretched theory of Einstein!
 
What if, also there, on Earth,
As on Tau Kita it was,
The knowledge terribly increased,-
What if, even there, agamobium now they practised?!
 

We robbed together the same peasant's house

We robbed together the same peasant's house,
We penetrated by the same slit, -
We have met like three foster-brothers,
Which have never seen each other at all.
 
For bread and water and freedom -
Thanks to our Soviet nation!
For the nights in the prison, the interrogations in the MUR -
Thanks to our municipal prosecutor!
 
We have been sent together to the port Nakodki,
I shall be released tomorrow, they will release them tomorrow, -
We have met, like three roubles for Vodka,
And they went like Vodka for three.
 
For bread and water and freedom -
Thanks to our Soviet nation!
For the nights in the prison, the interrogations in the MUR -
Thanks to our municipal prosecutor!
 
How well the white earth is organized! -
Yesterday I have been mentioned in a command:
Released five years earlier, -
And the signature: Voroshilov, Georgadse'.
 
For bread and water and freedom -
Thanks to our Soviet nation!
For the nights in the prison, the interrogations in the MUR -
Thanks to our municipal prosecutor!
 
But that is mathematics of the goods:
I was after all condemned to twelve, -
Seven were taken from my life,
And five - given me back now!
 
For bread and water and freedom -
Thanks to our Soviet nation!
For the nights in the prison, the interrogations in the MUR -
Thanks to our municipal prosecutor!
 

Tattooing

We have not divided you and not been affectionate,
And what we loved - that is left behind.
I carry in my soul your gleaming image, Valya,
And Lyosha had your image pricked on his chest.
 
And on that day we said farewelll at the station,
I promised you to remember you till the grave, -
I said: I shall never in my life forget Valya!
- And I especially, - Lyosha answered me.
 
And now decide, who of us is worse,
And for whom it is more difficult - just try to tear up old wounds:
He has your profile pricked outside,
And I have - my soul pricked inside.
 
And when I already feel wretched, as on the scaffold, -
May my words not insult you, -
I beg, that Lyosha undo his shirt,
And I look, look for hours at you.
 
But recently my comrade, a good friend,
Has defeated my misfortune, -
He copied you from Lyosha's chest
And pricked your profile on my chest.
 
I know, to slander one's friends is embarrassing,
But you are close to me and naturally because,
That my, most probably - your tattooing
Is much better and more beautiful than his.
 

Alyosha

Yesterday thoroughly bad news were sent to us:
It was said to us, that Alyosha had given up his ghost.
How can that be? He tolds us, that he enjoys life,
That in a week he will begin to celebrate the wedding!
 
The girl will not see this wedding,
Because at a fight he fell on a knife.
Because it is bad - but not for the first time,
Alyosha got a new hole in his soul.
 
If he patched up for that his soul like a shirt,
To be killed when drunk in a fight by the riff-raff!
If everything were in order, we should go today to the wedding,
But he was found in the morning with a knife in the shoulderblade.
 
What now, the girl is broken.
What now, she is in dispair - and the tears dry,
And then, without a sigh, she opens the door to everybody.
It doesn't matter, Alyosha, you don't care now.
 
We shall bury him very modestly. Why sob!
There is nobody to tell about the burial.
Because nobody knows, where Alyosha's home is.
That is, such a crazy death is then awaiting all of us.
 
What now, the girl is broken.
What now, she is in dispair - and the tears dry,
An then, without a sigh, she opens the door to everybody.
God forgives, Alyosha! It doesn't matter to him now.
 

Thunder roared - an intervention is on the way

Thunder roared - an intervention is on the way,
Governmental investigation disperses telegrams,
That all Odessa is overcrowded with thieves
And that a critical moment has begun -
And obscure elements oppress.
 
There is no such an arrangement - the superiors are sad, -
In all dens isn't drunk wine, but poison,
In the whole town are killings and raids, -
A command is given - everything is at stake
And a reserve variant is employed.
 
There goes a cop - he is on his beat,
Governmental investigation disperses telegrams,
That all Odessa is overcrowded with thieves
And that a critical moment has begun -
And obscure elements oppress.
 
And they give as an answer the following advice:
Have a drop of repect for this crisis,
Four time from one side - no Odessa-mum for you!
May the cop go, be on his beat, -
There is no such an arrangement - and the number doesn't come!
 

On the neutral zone

On the border to Turkey or Pakistan -
Is a neutral zone. To the right were there are shrubs, -
Our border guards with our captain,
And on the left side - their posts.
 
And on the neutral zone the flowers
Are of exceptional beauty!
 
The bride of the captain decided to live together.
She turned up and said: My love, that and this ...-
One must at least give the bride a bunch of flowers -
What is a wedding without flowers? A booze-up and that's all!
 
And on the neutral zone the flowers
Are of exceptional beauty!
 
To the superior, with a notice,
Also turned up an old wife - swooped down capriciously,
And said also 'Love', only in Turkish, -
There'll be a wedding, she said, - a wedding and sabbath.
 
And on the neutral zone the flowers
Are of exceptional beauty!
 
Our border guards are brave lads -
Three volunteered to go, with them is the captain.
How should they know about it, that the Asians
Made up their minds to fire at the flowers in the night.
 
And on the neutral zone the flowers
Are of exceptional beauty!
 
Drunken from the smell of the flowers, the captian is dead drunk,
Now and their captain is also dead drunk.
He topppled on the flowers and moaned in Turkish,
And in Russian he cried: - Mother ... - the captain collapsed.
 
And on the neutral zone the flowers
Are of exceptional beauty!
 
Does the captain sleep and does he dream,
That the borders were opened, like the gate of the Kremlin.
He is contemptuous, there need not be a foreign country
He wanted to pass noman's land.
Why is that not possible? The earth however is nobody's,
It is all the same - neutral!
 
And on the neutral zone the flowers
Are of exceptional beauty!
 

Man overboard

There was a storm - the ropes have torn the skin of the hands,
The anchor-chain screamed devilishly.
The wind sang the crude song - and suddenly
Sounded a voice: 'Man overboard!'
 
And at once: Full speed back! Stop machines!
Save quickly and warm him!
Put something inside - if a man,
If not - rub!
 
I feel sorry, that I am doomed to walk
Overland, - that means, I don't have to wait for help -
No one will jump in to save me
And not announce launching a lifeboat sounding the alarm.
 
But say: 'Speed ahead! Following wind!
We shall be punctual in the port.
As he is a son of a bitch, -
Let haul in himself!'
 
And my ship will move from me -
And on it, are probably first-class people.
That man on the look-out looks only ahead
He spits that the man has gone overboard.
 
I see - swimming past,
A friendly port is waiting for them -
Little interest who falls
From the main way oberboard.
 
When I was carried into the sea, there was
Wind force nine in new money -
For me the life boat is let down by the captain -
And I shall feel ground under my feet.
 
They will get hold of me by the clothing, -
That means falling in clothed is a plus, -
On board the lifebout like on hope
I clamb in the death-struggle.
 
Here one can spit from the tank to the stern,
Not many knots - one month in Havana, -
But I want to the deck to him -
To the captain, who gave the earth back to me.
 
Make full speed ahead - what is for us a block of ice!
I belong now to you sailors, -
Cut me, the son of a bitch,
And tear me to pieces.
 
I am on board - the course is like previously, like previously the way -
To me outstretched are the hands, the souls, cigarettes,
I am convinced: when something happens -
The sailors will throw the life-belt to me.
 
It is true, the rolling overcomes them there
In the storms on duty cannot take a breather, -
But a man overboard
Is here not let to be drowned!
 
When a trap is closed empty
And on the earth losses are forgotten,
The best captain of the world
Has let down a trap for me and I shall get out on the shore.
 
I shall undertake a conversation
I shall teach some,
That a man overboard
Is not to let alone.
 

Compared to me is any fakir ...

Compared to me is any fakir - now simply a dwarf,
I take them for the most petty trendy chaps, -
Give me one ticket to Monte Carlo -
I shall worry their cheats!
 
I don't let myself be seduced by their beauty,
And at the roulette - I shall only cast a glance, -
Their croupiers will lick clean my soles,
And I am on the train - and on the way back.
 
I shall play on red and on black,
And in Monte Carlo I shall climb all over the corners, -
Leave to them in their gaming house
Only the much vaunted green tables.
 
I shall bring with me a mass of impressions:
I shall drink cocktails, listen to Jazz-bands, -
I shall bring with me a heap of their money -
And the whole currency hand over to a Soviet bank.
 
I speak about everything without bravado -
I never joke: I have to face the 'turret', -
I crawl before our native state,
Certainly I'll have results!
 

Perhaps is appears strange to somebody ...

Perhaps it appears strange to somebody,
That we don't observe beauties in passing, -
But between stations we lose minutes,
And at the stop - we lose hours.
 
We send cars in gallop,
We fly, don't hope of God! ..
For some under the wheels - into the coffin,
For others - simply the way to other destinations.
 
But how crazy are people,
Hands on the steering wheels and eternally in dust! ..
But at the stop we lose copecks,
And between the stations we lose roubles.
 
We send cars in gallop,
We fly, don't hope of God!
For some under the wheels - into the coffin,
For others - simply the way to other destinations.
 

Song about the stars

I shall never forget that battle -
The air is impregnated with death,
And over the horizon in the noiseless rain
Fell stars.
 
Another fell - and I lookded ahead:
To move alive out of the battle, -
Thus my life is tied in a hurry
To the silly stars.
 
I already decided: The misfortune has passed
And I managed to wriggle out, -
Out of the sky fell down a stray star -
Directly in the heart.
 
We were told: 'The height is needed!'
And 'Don't spare cartridges!' ...
There started rolling a second star -
To them upon the shoulder straps.
 
The stars are in the sky - like fish in a pond
Enough for all with gain.
If I were not dead, I should walk at that time
Also - a Hero.
 
I would give the Star to the son,
Simply - as a memory ...
On the sky hangs a lost star
Nowhere to fall.
 

Song about a loony bin

I said to myself: Stop writing, -
but the hands begged.
Oh, mummy my home, beloved friends!
I lie in the ward - they squint,
I don't sleep: I am afraid they'd throw themselves upon me, -
However beside me are quiet loonies, incurables.
 
There are different loonies -
not violent, but dirty, -
They are treated, starved, beat up by the hospital orderlies.
And what is astonishing here:
all go without straitjackets,
And then, what is brought to me, all the loonies gobble up.
 
Where is Dostoyevsky
with the famous 'Memoirs', -
If the deceased could see, how they beat on the doors with their foreheads!
And could tell Gogol
about our wretched life, -
By-god, Gogol would not believe us.
 
That is torment, - spit on them! -
they are sons of bitches, violent loonies:
All aim to lick me up, - by-god, I've no stength!
Yesterday in the ward number seven
One went off his head for good -
shouted: 'Give me America!' and beat the hospital orderlies.
 
I don't wish for fame and
until I'm not of absolute health -
Reason not yet faded, but that is ahead, -
There is the headphysician - a woman -
if quiet, but insane,-
I say: '! get out off my mind' - she to me, 'Wait!'
 
I wait, but feel - already
I go on the knife's blade:
I forgot the alphabet, of the cases I only remember two
And I ask my friends,
That who were like I and not be me,
Get him to fetch me out of here!
 

Song about a real insider

Refrain:
The ball hid in the close-clipped grass.
One second interval in the field and in the ether ...
They play according to the system 'double-w', -
But I spit on it, - with us it is 'Four-two-four'.
 
Oh Insider! For him - what is football, what is ballet,
He always plays the right wing, -
There is no fairness in the world and on the field -
That is why I always play on the left.
 
Refrain
 
Now the insider scored a goal, receiving an exact pass.
I wish that he'd met me on the way, -
I cannot. My trainer placed me as reserve,
But he got on as if he'd break the feet.
 
Refrain
 
It doesn't matter! I wait a little,
And though I don't get a flat from the team -
I'll catch with him up today, I'll catch up, -
I may not win the world football championship.
 
Refrain
 
It doesn't matter! After the match I wait for him -
And then we have a little talk without a judge, -
I'll make a mess, I feel it in my heart - I'll hit
From the reserve bench the bench before the court.
 
Refrain
 

About fateful data and numbers

For poets and so on, but mainly - for poets
 
Who ended life tragic - he is a true poet,
And if at the exact time - then in full measure.
At the number 26 one took a step towards the pistol,
And then however - climbed to the loop in 'Angleterre'.
 
And with thirty-three Jesus Christ ... (He was a poet, he spoke:
'You are not to kill!' - everywhere I'll find you, he said.)
But they bashed nails into his hands, to that he could not create,
So that he neither wrote, nor thought about it.
 
I am at the number 37, in a moment I'll fall off drink.
There and at once like a cold shuddering:
Under this number Pushkin made a mess of himself in a duel
And Mayakovsky shot himself in the temple.
 
Let's stay at the number 37. Treacherous god -
Put a question point- blank: Either - or.
On this line we lost Byron and Rimbaud,
And the present-day they have somehow slipped through.
 
The duel didn't take place or was postponed,
And at thirty three they were crucified, but not powerfully.
And with thirty-seven - no blood, what is blood and turning grey
It doesn't mar too much.
 
Too weak to shoot oneself? My heart sank to my boots?
Patience, psychopates and hysterical women!
The poets walk on the razor's edge
An cut to the blood your bare souls.
 
On the word 'dlinosheee'* pin on three 'e' at the end.
The poets shorten - the decision is clear.
And the knife after him - but he hangs fortunately on the cutter
Slaughtered because he was dangerous.
 
I pity you, follower of a fateful date and number!
You pine like a concubine in a harem:
Expectation of life has risen and maybe the end
Of the poets put back in time!
 

From below ice and above - I leap between ...

From below ice and above - I leap between, -
Make a hole above or drill below?
Of course - rise to the surface and not lose hope,
And there - to the matter of expectation a visa!
 
Ice above me, cracks and bangs!
I am bathed in sweat, like a ploughman ploughing.
I returned to you like a ship out of a song,
Remember everything, even old poems.
 
I am less than half a century - forty and more, -
I live because of you and the Lord's grace.
I have something to sing, standing in front of the Almighty,
I have something to justify before him.
 

Bolshoi Karetny

Where are your seventeen years?
In the Bolshoi Karetny.
Where are your seventeen calamities?
In the Bolshoi Karetny.
Where is your black pistol?
In the Bolshoi Karetny.
And where are you today not?
In the Bolshoi Karetny.
 
Do you remember, comrade, this house?
No, you don't forget about it.
I say, that one has lost halve his life,
Who hasn't been in the Bolshoi Karetny.
However, of course.
 
Where are your seventeen years?
In the Bolshoi Karetny.
Where are your seventeen calamities?
In the Bolshoi Karetny.
Where is your black pistol?
In the Bolshoi Karetny.
And where are you today not?
In the Bolshoi Karetny.
 
It is renamed now,
There is all new, believe it or not.
And all the same where you haven't been, where you don't walk
No, no, again you walk the Karetny along,
However, of couse.
 
Where are your seventeen years?
In the Bolshoi Karetny.
Where are your seventeen calamities?
In the Bolshoi Karetny.
Where is your black pistol?
In the Bolshoi Karetny.
And where are you today not?
In the Bolshoi Karetny.
 

Song about the hospital

I lived with mother and father
On the Arbat - if it were always so.
And now I am in a hospital
In the bed, all in bandages.
 
What is for us glory, what is for us Klava -
The nurse and bright light?
My neighbour on the right died,
The one, who is on the left - not yet.
 
And once - like carbon monoxide fumes -
That neighbour, who is on the left,
Told me suddenly: - Now listen, buddy,
You have a leg less.
 
How come! That's not true brother!
He, probably, joked?
- We only cut off toes, -
So the doctor told me.
 
But the neighbour, who is on the left,
Smiled all the time, joked all the time.
Even if nightly he was delirious -
He spoke about the leg.
 
Mockingly he said: You will not get up!
You won't see, he said, your wife!
If you only could, comrade,
See yourself from the side.
 
If I were not a cripple
And could get down from the bed,
I'd the one, who is to the left,
Simply bite through the throat!
 
I implored nursie Klava
To show me what happened to me.
If the neighbour, who was on the left, were alive, -
He would tell me the truth ...
 

The hill

They seized hold of the hill, like something of their own.
Firing of mortars, heavy fire ...
And we all climbed up on it in crowds,
Like to a buffet in a railway station.
 
And the cry 'hurrah' became torpid in the mouth,
As we swallowed the bullets.
Seven times we occupied this hill -
Seven time we left it.
 
And nobody wants the attack again,
The earth is like burnt kasha ...
At the eighth time we get it for good -
We get what's ours, our vital interests!
 
But one can go round the side ot it, -
And why do we cling to it?!
But all the ways of fate obviously
Cross at this hill.
 

Forgotten

The icon hangs in the left corner at them -
Probably, they are milkdrinkers, -
Sacking lies on the floor at them,
Heels have trampled on it.
 
Beds and one table - that is with them the whole comfort, -
And two - former wine - barrels, -
As if I came upon an invalid refuge -
A passer-by in a starched shirt.
 
I was given wine - and from where is it!
For two rubles - two magnificent pitchers, -
And the grandfather - an invalid without teeth and legs -
Looked pleadingly to me back.
 
'I wish success!' - I said to him.
'There is no success for an old fogey!'
We drank with him, sat in the smoke, -
And he began at once, and began! ..
 
'And what, - he says, - have given me the authorities
For my teeth and for my legs!
And the grandfather - hellishly - get drunk to your heart's content -
And scrape ways with the stumps.
 
Oh, had I legs - I would manage better,
Could better tackle someone, that I am on the poverty line!
It's useless - the grandfather demanded, -
It's useless, it will come to nothing.!
 
'What's needed, grandfather' - I asked the old man.
'But needs are a trifle:
That - god be with them, with the ZK - but that at least the Cheka
Would be interested in my fate ...'