Thread: "Я русский бы выучил только за то...", что это язык Владимира Высoцкого

http://kacmanat.ru/vsv/vvtxt/v3.htm - Слушать песни и видеть тексты.





25 января 1938 - 25 июля 1980

http://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%92%D1% ... 0%B8%D1%87

Vуsоtskу - Greatest 20th Century Poet

...Combine into one person the American bards Bob Dylan, Phil Ochs, Leonard Cohen, Tom Paxton, and others. Add the mass popularity of Elvis Presley and the Beatles. This will give you something approaching Vladimir Vуsоtsky. His creative career spanned the 60s and 70s. A few of his songs were released on official recordings. The many albums released аfter his death in July 1980 were compiled from numerous private recordings. No books containing his work were published during his life. Many began appearing after his death, including a definitive 8-volume collection published in Germany in 1994. He wrote more than 700 songs.
__________________________________________________ _________
"От автора.

Дело в том, что все песни, которые я пою, я пишу сам, - и текст, и музыку. Сам их исполняю и сам, как могу, подигрываю себе на гитаре. Поэтому я совсем не принадлежу к разряду эстрадных певцов.
Это есть жанр авторской песни, исполнительский жанр. И можно это называть пением или речитативом, и как угодно.
Во всяком случае, просто у нас не практикуется, чтобы человек сам делал, так сказать всё, чтобы он был един в трёх лицах. Разные авторы песен, которые поются с эстрады.
Но я считаю, что то, что делаем мы, - вот несколько человек есть, - вы их иногда слышите: некоторых по телевидению, ну меня нет, а в кино вот я пишу, - это правильно вот почему.
Я стараюсь все песни, которые я написал, - а их шестьсот, - исполнять сам. поэтому я не очень доволен, когда поют мои песни другие певцы.
Не от того, что они их портят, - они, вероятно, поют их лучше. А просто они, вероятно, не могут сказать то, чего я хотел в этой песне.
И иногда песне приписывается значение такое после этих исполнений, которого она не имеет, она не несёт таких нагрузок.
Ну вот, это я просто так, небольшую преамбулу. А теперь песни."
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Переводы на разные языки: http://www.wysotsky.com/0002/000.asp?n=046





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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ucsjUkcO1o

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PAwFA5lbhgs

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DXpzo5Vla_U

http://www.russiandvd.com/store/album_a ... Fnumber=03

http://www.bard.ru/cgi-bin/mp3.cgi?id=883.03
http://www.bard.ru/cgi-bin/mp3.cgi?id=1112.17
http://www.bard.ru/cgi-bin/mp3.cgi?id=1241.17
http://www.bard.ru/cgi-bin/mp3.cgi?id=417.04

? ftp://berg.samara.net/Music/mp3arc/00/0 ... 556_02.mp3
? ftp://berg.samara.net/Music/mp3arc/01/0 ... 125_01.mp3


Притча о Правде и Лжи

Посвящено Булату Окуджаве

Нежная Правда в красивых одеждах ходила,
Принарядившись для сирых, блаженных калек, -
Грубая Ложь эту Правду к себе заманила:
Мол, оставайся-ка ты у меня на ночлег.

И легковерная Правда спокойно уснула,
Слюни пустила и разулыбалась во сне, -
Хитрая Ложь на себя одеяло стянула,
В Правду впилась - и осталась довольна вполне.

И поднялась, и скроила ей рожу бульдожью:
Баба как баба, и что ее ради радеть?! -
Разницы нет никакой между Правдой и Ложью,
Если, конечно, и ту и другую раздеть.

Выплела ловко из кос золотистые ленты
И прихватила одежды, примерив на глаз;
Деньги взяла, и часы, и еще документы, -
Сплюнула, грязно ругнулась - и вон подалась.

Только к утру обнаружила Правда пропажу -
И подивилась, себя оглядев делово:
Кто-то уже, раздобыв где-то черную сажу,
Вымазал чистую Правду, а так - ничего.

Правда смеялась, когда в нее камни бросали:
"Ложь это все, и на Лжи одеянье мое..."
Двое блаженных калек протокол составляли
И обзывали дурными словами её.

(Стервой ругали её, и похуже чем стервой,
Мазали глиной, спускали дворового пса...
"Духу чтоб не было, - на километр сто первый
Выселить, выслать за двадцать четыре часа!") *

Тот протокол заключался обидной тирадой
(Кстати, навесили Правде чужие дела):
Дескать, какая-то мразь называется Правдой,
Ну а сама - пропилась, проспалась догола.

Голая Правда божилась, клялась и рыдала,
Долго скиталась, болела, нуждалась в деньгах, -
Грязная Ложь чистокровную лошадь украла -
И ускакала на длинных и тонких ногах.

Некий чудак и поныне за Правду воюет, -
Правда, в речах его правды - на ломаный грош:
"Чистая Правда со временем восторжествует, -
Если проделает то же, что явная Ложь!"

Часто разлив по сто семьдесят граммов на брата,
Даже не знаешь, куда на ночлег попадёшь.
Могут раздеть, - это чистая правда, ребята, -
Глядь - а штаны твои носит коварная Ложь.
Глядь - на часы твои смотрит коварная Ложь.
Глядь - а конём твоим правит коварная Ложь.

* Не спето.
_________________________________________________
The story of the Truth and the Lie

Translation by Alec Vagapov

Delicate Truth, all dressed up, had a beautiful bearing,
Smartening herself up for cripples and wrenches and freaks.
Lie tricked the Truth into visiting her at her dwelling
Telling her that she could stay for the night, or for weeks.

Gullible Truth fell asleep with no bad premonition,
Slack'ning, she broke into frivolous smiles in her dream.
Rough Lie pulled up to herself all the blanket and cushion,
Driving her sting through the Truth she was pleased, it would seem.

Then she got up, and she pulled her a bulldog's face rudely,
She 's only a woman, so why should she bother at all?
There is no diff'rence between Truth and Lie, absolutely,
(certainly, if you can strip them to swallow them whole)...

Then she untwisted the beautiful band from her hair,
Then grabbed some shoes and some clothes taking measures by sight,
took all the money, the watch and the documents, too, lying there,
swore like a fishwife, spit out and then took to flight.

Only at daybreak the Truth had discovered the loss and,
taking a look in the mirror, she stood in surprise:
someone had daubed her with soot, she looked dirty and glossy,
but on the whole, she believed, she was looking all right.

When she was beaten and stoned Truth would laugh in their faces.
"She has my clothes on. She lies. I reject all the blames ..."
Two freaks wer' taking the minute. They weren't very gracious,
scolding her angrily, shouting and calling her names,

calling her "wicked" and saying "she's worse than just wicked",
setting a dog at her, smearing all over with mud...
shouting: "She's got to be exiled, kicked out, evicted,
twenty four hours will be sufficient for that!"

They wound up with a long angry scolding conclusion
(having imputed additional crimes to the Truth):
"She took the name of the “Truth”, for the sake of confusion,
while she had swapped all her things for indulgence and booze".

Genuine Truth wept and sobbed, swore by God and by honour,
wondering, going through poverty, illness, what not.
Dirty Lie'd stolen a thoroughbred horse from the owner,
and she set off at a gallop before she got caught.

There is a crank that still fights for the truth with persistence,
though there is little of truth in what truth-seeker says.
"Truth will undoubtedly triumph one day if, for instance,
she plays the treacherous tricks as the lie always plays…"

Sitting at table with friends, drinking wine or whatever,
you never know if you'll manage to really get by.
You'll be relieved of your clothing, as sure as ever.
Look at your trousers worn by insidious Lie.
Look at your watch on the wrist of insidious Lie.
Look at your horse ridden by the insidious Lie.
________________________________________


A parable about truth

Delicate Truth once went walking in lovely apparel,
Spruced up to gladden the grey, crazy invalids’ sight;
Crude Falsity thought she’d get this Truth over a barrel;
She asked her: "Why don’t you stay at my place for the night?"

Thus with a heart full of trust Truth quite happily dozed off,
Blew little bubbles and smiled to herself as she dreamt;
Falsity cunningly crept in and snatched her bedclothes off;
Sinking her teeth into Truth she grew fully content.

Then she got up and she screwed her mug into a bulldog’s:
"She’s just a woman, so why should she make people care?"
There is no difference at all between Truth and a falsehood -
With the proviso, of course, that they’re both of them bare.

Next she picked ribbons of gold from Truth’s plaits with no effort,
Grabbed all her clothes, which she held up and measured by eye,
Took all her money, her watch and, yes, even her passport,
Swore like a trooper and spat as she waved her goodbye.

Only come morning did Truth see her things had been taken;
Looking herself up and down she was baffled and stunned;
Someone had somewhere got hold of some soot - it was caked on
All over pure, spotless Truth, but no harm had been done.

Truth only laughed when the stones people threw at her caught her:
"Falsity’s done this, and Falsity’s got my clothes too!"
Two crazy invalids wrote down some notes to report her,
Shouting out all of the bad names the pair of them knew.

Calling her "trollop" and worse, they set out to mistreat her,
Set loose the chained dog and said as they rubbed her with clay:
"Don’t let her within one hundred and one kilometres;
Make sure in twenty-four hours she’s been sent away."

That report ended in words full of poison and malice
(Also they pinned lots of crimes on her they couldn’t solve):
"Some piece of filth’s making out that she’s Truth when the fact is
She’s just a drunk who’s slept rough till her clothes have dissolved."

Naked Truth sobbed as she called upon God as her witness,
Ailed for a long time and wandered the earth in dire need,
While dirty Falsity, having made horse theft her business,
Skipped on the long, dainty legs of a pure-blooded steed.

Rubbing along with an obvious lie’s not that tough now;
Looking at Truth hurt their eyes and made people annoyed.
Still uncorrupted, Truth this very day roams the rough ground;
Due to her nakedness, people she tries to avoid.

Maybe some odd type might still try to battle Truth’s corner,
Though in all truth there’s a fig’s worth of truth in his speech;
Unadorned Truth will eventually sweep all before her -
If she can walk in the shoes of bare-faced Falsity.

Often you’ll pour out a hundred and seventy gram-sized
Glasses for all when you’re not sure where you’re going to sleep;
They can undress you and that is the pure, naked truth, guys:
Look who’s now wearing your trousers, it’s base Falsity;
Look who’s perusing your watch now, it’s base Falsity;
Look who’s controlling your horse now, it’s base Falsity.

© Margaret & Stas Porokhnya. Translation, 2007
_____________________________________

A Parable of Truth and Lie

Truth walked the earth once in fine clothes - which she used to wear
Only to please all the poor and the cripples in their plight.
Crude Lie decoyed tender Truth one night into her lair,
Telling her, Why don’t you stay at my place overnight?

Gullible Truth went to bed and slept quietly and soundly,
Dribbling saliva, and smiling a radiant smile.
Crude Lie first hogged all the blankets and then started sucking
At Truth’s lifeblood, feeling as pleased as Punch all the while.

Then she rose swiftly and made a crude face at the other:
Ha! Just a dame! What’s so special about this damn bitch?
Truth or Lie, there is no difference at all, whatever -
If you undress them, of course - you can’t tell which is which.

Then golden ribbons she nimbly pulled out of the tresses.
Put on the dress and the shoes that the other one wore,
Picked up the money, the watch and the papers, with curses
Spat on the floor, coarsely swore, and skipped out of the door.

Truth in the morning woke up, and her losses discovered,
And felt amused as she looked at herself in the light:
Somebody’d got hold of soot and her body had covered
In dirty streaks, but the rest - more or less - looked all right.

Truth merely laughed when they stoned her, and told those dense people:
"These are all lies, and the fine clothes Lie’s wearing are mine."
But a report was made out by a couple of cripples
Who called her all the bad names they could think of, the swine.

They called her bitch, and much worse; and with jeers and with howls
She was all tarred, and then baited with dogs by the hoods.
"Get lost, and stay lost!" They gave her just twenty- four hours
In which to pack and get out of the city for good.

That report ended in brazen-faced, impudent slander
(Jobs done by others were pinned on the poor Truth, to boot):
This bum who called herself Truth, they wrote, went on a bender,
Hocked all her clothes to get booze, and was found in the nude.

How pure Truth pleaded, sobbed and swore by all that is holy!
Knocking all over the world, she was broke and in pain.
One dark night, Dirty Lie stole a fast, thoroughbred filly
And rode away with a whoop of delight and disdain.


A certain crank tried to vindicate Truth - he’s still trying.
True, there’s no truth in his speeches - they’re cunning and sly:
"Time will come, brothers, when Truth will be certain to triumph -
Always provided it acts in the same way as Lie."

Often, when you split a bottle of booze with two others1,
You don’t know where you will spend the night, with whom or why.
You can be picked clean - I swear it’s the purest truth, brothers -
Look - those are your trousers, stolen by insidious Lie.
Look - that is your watch, now worn by insidious Lie.
Look - that is your horse that carries insidious Lie!



1 Vysоtsky refers here to the accepted way of dealing with vodka: a bottle (half a litre) is poured into three glasses which are downed at a draught. In the drinking circles, the system is known as "for three" (na troikh).

© Sergei Roy. Translation, 1990