poems have been chosen by translator
| | I adore the ocean waves | | There is no goodness | | That photograph no longer can be found | | The Eccentrics are not born as such | |
| | There are just a few | | My soul would fly to stars | | We are prisoners of reality | | It’s hard to be prepared | | Long ago the humans used to fly | |
| | Floor under feet | | And we will dream | | My mom and dad had passed away | | Nice to be alone with you | | Our love has come | | The terror | |
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Almost dusk - half asleep, half a word in reply, Someone under her breath utters almost a No, Bodies close, with her arm half-way frozen in flight… Yet, that damn half a feeling means "no place to go". This is when for the feeling of fullness I yearn, This is when I so dream of the Yen to my Yin… And I slowly dive into darkness that burns, And your Yes is exhaled on one breath, from within… December 1976 |
è ía ïoëóäûxaíèè cëûøèòcÿ "íeò"... áëèçocòü òeëa, póêa oò ìeíÿ â ïoëïóòè, ío ïpoêëÿòûe "ïoë" èx íeëüçÿ oáoéòè... è òoãäa, ÷òoáû ïoëíoe ÷óâcòâo òoìèëo, ÿ ïoäóìaþ caì o âòopoé ïoëoâèíe... ïócòü oïócòèòücÿ ìpaê, òû â oáúÿòüÿx òeïëa, è â eäèíoì äûxaíèè âûpâeòcÿ "äa"... äeêaápü 1976 |
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Leaves, leaves, leaves... Like thoughts, they fall with a twist. And then, at the close of the day, The night comes to sweep them away, Wiping them clean with its broom – To groom the Earth, to groom… Rain, rain, rain... It hammers its nails into brain, The drops – they dance and they spring, So, why does this image bring The pang as I'm looking at it - But let it, but let it, but let it... Howling, howling, howling... My soul is aching and moaning. Not for the rainy sky, But for the years passing by, Washing the dreams away – With gray, with gray, with gray... The summer is sneaking out, The fall's flying in on the cloud, Embracing me in its cloak, As feelings are running amok And sound escapes on a wing – And arms that wring, that wring... April 1976 |
êpóæaò è ïaäaþò ìûcëè è êaæäûé âe÷ep ìeòëoþ âeòep óíocèò c coáoþ , óïaâøèe ía çeìü ìûcëè- ëècòüÿ , ëècòüÿ , ëècòüÿ. äoæäü , äoæäü , äoæäü. â ìoçã çaáèâaeò ãâoçäü , êaïaeò c íeáa âoäa... äoæäèê oceííèé âceãäa íaâoäèò òocêó è ãpócòü- ïócòü. ïócòü. ïócòü. âoeò , âoeò , âoeò , còpaøío äóøa íoeò , áoëèò íe èç-ça ïoãoäû- ïoòoìó , ÷òo óxoäÿò ãoäû , ïoòoìó , ÷òo ïpoxoäèò c÷acòüe- íeíacòüe , íeíacòüe , íeíacòüe... áëèæe , áëèæe , áëèæe è ÿ xopoøo âèæó , êaêèì áóäeò çaâòpaøíèé äeíü , ëèøü ìèìoëeòíaÿ òeíü ìeëüêíeò è óì÷èòcÿ äaëüøe... êaê paíüøe , êaê paíüøe , êaê paíüøe æèçíü. æèçíü. æèçíü. ìû âèäèì êaêoþ xoòèì. çäopoâû - è ìèp ïpèÿòeí , è êaæäûé òâoé äpóã è ïpèÿòeëü. áoëüíû - è âèäèì äpóãoe... áoëüíoe, áoëüíoe, áoëüíoe âpeìÿ. âpeìÿ. âpeìÿ. ëoæèòücÿ ía ïëe÷è ápeìÿ è êëoíèò ëþäeé ê ïocòeëè , a ìíoãèe æèòü xoòeëè, ío âèäeí óæ áepeã áëèçêo... íèçêèé, íèçêèé, íèçêèé ïpo÷ü. ïpo÷ü. ïpo÷ü. ío cíoâa ïpèxoäèò ío÷ü è çaêëþ÷aeò â oáúÿòüÿ, oïÿòü íe ìoãó ìoë÷aòü ÿ, è pâóòücÿ èç cepäöa çâóêè... póêè... póêè... póêè... |
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Be damned that very hour, Be damned that very minute When grieve like solemn tower Had me engolfed within it. When I felt numb and ill, Incapable of sound, And when the time stood still To turn the years around. And when the autumn leaf Slid down like a tear To weep that No you breathed, Our hearts no longer near… Be damned that very hour, Be damned that very minute When grieve like solemn tower Had me engolfed within it. 1978 |
áóäü ïpoêëÿò ýòoò äeíü, áóäü ïpoêëÿò ýòoò ÷ac, êoãäa íec÷acòüÿ òeíü, óêpûëa ìoë÷a íac, êoãäa ìoë÷aëè ìû, íe â cèëax cëoâ cêaçaòü, è çaìepëè pó÷üè, ãoäa ïoì÷aëècü âcïÿòü. êoãäa oceííèé ëècò, cêaòèëcÿ êaê cëeça, è òû cêaçaëa "íeò"... è oòâeëa ãëaça... |
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when I turned twenty one? My friends were all around me then, we soaked in blinding sun. Above our heads was clear sky, strung out as arch of bows… And carefree, we whirled in the Umbrella - Universe. The dreaming and poetic words were turning heads in vain, Inevitable like a burst, that turns our minds insane… All crystal clear up ahead: the hopes, the lights, the sun… Remember that majestic day when I turned twenty one? 1978 |
ìíe áûëo äâaäöaòü ëeò. co ìíoþ áûëè âce äpóçüÿ è coëíöa ÿcíûé câeò, co ìíoé áûë âûãíóòûé äóãoé, ìaíÿùèé ãopèçoíò, è áeçìÿòeæíocòè ïoêoé - âceëeííoé ÷¸píûé çoíò. íeâèííûx, þíûx ÷óâcòâ ïopûâ ìíe ãoëoâó êpóæèë, íeóäepæèìûé cëoâío âçpûâ, ìeíÿ c óìa câoäèë. âc¸ áûëo ÿcío âïepeäè - íaäeæäû cëaäoê câeò... ÿ ïoìíþ ÷óäíûé äeíü, êoãäa ìíe áûëo äâaäöaòü ëeò ... |
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A dream and reality live on this Earth, They don’t get along very nice: They pull us in opposite ways from the birth, In lulls and in turmoil of life. A dream is like bird wings that carry us up, Like crushing of breakers on shore, Reality – tiger that sneaks up to grab And smear with a powerful paw. A dream like a symbol of all of the hopes, Embodies the future that comes, Good karma that takes us through failure and loss, Through storms to the clearest of skies. Reality is like a sharpest of swards That swings over heads with a swoosh, And when we are most unaware, it falls To slice our lives into mush. A dream is what keeps up the family hearth, What melts up the loneliness ice. A dream and reality live on this Earth, They don’t get along very nice. 1978 |
íe äpóæaò oíè ìeæ coáoþ, è â paçíûe còopoíû â æèçíè çoâóò, ìeíÿ è ëþäeé ça coáoþ. ìe÷òa - ýòo êpûëüÿ íecóùèe â âûcü, ãäe ïëeùeò æeëaíüÿ ïoòoê, peaëüíocòü - êoâapíaÿ, äèêaÿ pûcü, íacòèãíeò â eäèíûé ïpûæoê. ìe÷òa - ýòo cèìâoë âcex íaøèx íaäeæä, ãpÿäóùèx coáûòèé êopäoí, è ïëûòü íaì ça íeé ÷epeç ìope íeâeæä, cêâoçü áópè è øòopìû âpeì¸í. peaëüíocòü cêopee ìoxoæa ía ìe÷, âèçæaùèé íaä íaøeé cóäüáoé. c ìe÷òoþ â ïoë¸òe eão áepeãècü - èía÷e ãëaâa c ïëe÷ äoëoé. ìe÷òa cpeäü peaëüíocòè êpeïêèé peäóò, âeä¸ò c ïoâceäíeâíocòüþ áoé... ìe÷òa è peaëüíocòü ía câeòe æèâóò, íe äpóæaò oíè ìeæ coáoé. |
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If you only remain around, Even just as a dewy string, Underneath your feet on the ground… I’ll be your ever pumping heartbeat, Your invisible shadow unknown, Or a weightless feathery wheat, On the palm of your hand, forlorn… I will serve as your whole universe, If you burst as a star in it, Or the downpouring rain they curse, If you cast as a storm for a minute… I’ll turn into whirling wind, Just to carry your name around, If you only have asked for it – But you don’t, not a touch, not a sound… 1979 |
òoëüêo âe÷ío c òoáoþ pÿäoì, xoòü acôaëüòoâoþ òpoïoþ, ïoä òâoèì áeçìÿòeæíûì øaãoì... ÿ coãëaceí áûòü cepäöa còóêoì èëü íeçpèìoé, íe÷eòêoé òeíüþ, íeâecoìûì è pûxëûì ïóxoì, ía ëaäoíè òâoeé, â çaáâeíüè... ÿ coãëaceí áûòü íeáoì çâ¸çäíûì, òoëüêo âcïûxíè ía í¸ì çâeçäoþ, ÿ coãëaceí áûòü ëèâíeì ãpoçíûì, ecëè còaíeøü ía ìèã ãpoçoþ... ÿ coãëaceí áûòü áópíûì âeòpoì, ecëè èìÿ òâo¸ oí íocèò, áûòü êeì xo÷eøü - çëoäeeì, âeïpeì, òoëüêo òû íè o ÷¸ì íe ïpocèøü... òoëüêo íeò ó ìeíÿ æeëaíüÿ æäaòü còoëeòüe oäío, äpóãoe, coxpaíÿÿ âocïoìèíaíüÿ, êaê eäèícòâeíío äopoãoe... |
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And sunrise-bonfire... Only you, my dear friend Are my heart's desire. And I treasure blue of skies - Stardust blow around! Yet one lash of your blue eyes – Biggest treasure found. Love the faces of my friends, Closeness grown in years. But you are my first sole mate, One who really cares. How I yearn the Earth to live - Ocean, mounts and shore - So I'd be with you and give Every day, much more! 1979 |
ïëecê âoëíû ìopeé, ío òeáÿ, ìoé þíûé äpóã, ÿ ëþáëþ cèëüíeé. ÿ ëþáëþ íeáec paçìax, çâ¸çäíûé âeòep âeé! ío òâoèx pecíè÷eê âçìax ÿ ëþáëþ cèëüíeé. ÿ ëþáëþ poäíûx ãëaça, âcex câoèx äpóçeé, ío òeáÿ, ìoÿ çâeçäa ÿ ëþáëþ cèëüíeé. ÿ ëþáëþ è æaæäó æèòü, coòíè òûcÿ÷ äíeé, è cìoãó òeáÿ ëþáèòü c êaæäûì äí¸ì cèëüíeé! |
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It’s only sores, and rot, and mulch… What was the goal of my creation? Why in the hell it hurts so much? It’s all defined from the beginning: What is permissible, what’s not… So, why are daily seconds streaming To wash away into the night? Why try to reach in contradiction, To suffer, learn, to water land, To give away all this perfection In final breath that comes to end? From A to Z it’s predetermined, From brightest climb – to bleakest fall: First scream of baby in infirmary, Last hissing sound of dying soul… 1979 |
oäíè áoëÿ÷êè - ãíèëü è ïëecü... ça÷eì cóäüáa ìeíÿ ça÷aëa? êaêoão ÷¸pòa! íoeò çäecü ... ça÷eì ìíe äaí áëaãoãoâeéíûé, áeçìepíûé óì - ïoçíaíüÿ paá? íe ïpoùe ëü poçoâûì ïopòâeéíoì ãëóøèòü òocêó cpeäü ïüÿíûx áaá? ça÷eì âc¸ ÿcío oò poæäeíüÿ: âoò ýòo ìoæío, òo - íeëüçÿ, ça÷eì óxoäÿò â ío÷ü ìãíoâeíüÿ è âìecòe c íèìè còapþcü ÿ? ça÷eì còpeìèòcÿ, ïpeêocëoâèòü, còpaäaòü, ó÷èòcÿ, ecòü è cïaòü, ÷òoáû eäèíûì, êpaòêèì cëoâoì âc¸ coâepøeííoe oòäaòü? oò a äo ÿ - íè øaãó áoëüøe, oò câeòa áeëoão äo òüìû, oò êpèêa ïepâoão, peá¸íêa, äo xpèïa óìepøeé äóøè... íeò câeòëoão âo ìíe ía÷aëa, oäíè áoëÿ÷êè, ãíèëü è ïëecü ... ça÷eì cóäüáa ìeíÿ ça÷aëa? êaêoão ÷¸pòa! íoeò çäecü ... |
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Where you and I are standing hugging tight, Illuminating kindness from inside, Our smiles are warming everything around… That photograph has faded in the years, As life has thrown us to many places, And we became the stranges - souls and faces - Our tender skin is gone and shred to tears. That photograph no longer is with us, Its ashes flew so far but landed near, With promises still whispered in the ear, As life refused to turn into the dust… That photograph no longer is with us. 1980 |
òoé ôoòoãpaôèè äaâío óæ íeò â æèâûx, ãäe ìû c òoáoé còoèì oáíÿâøècü, pÿäoì, äpóã äpóãa coãpeâaÿ íeæíûì âçãëÿäoì, cèÿÿ äoápoòoþ ìoëoäûx, òoé ôoòoãpaôèè äaâío óæ íeò â æèâûx. íac æèçíü paçâeÿëa â êpaÿ coâceì èíûe è còaëè ìû äaë¸êèe, ÷óæèe, è ãoëoc âíóòpeííèé è ècêpeííèé óòèx. òoé ôoòoãpaôèè äaâío óæ íeò â æèâûx, ío ïeïeë íaøèx âcòpe÷ ìíe cepäöe ãëoæeò, coçíaíüe òepeáèò è ÷acòo äóx òpeâoæèò, è cíoâa ïoâòopÿeò ýòoò còèx : òoé ôoòoãpaôèè äaâío óæ íeò â æèâûx... |
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They emerge from a very usual bunch, From the very ordinary of us With the same colored hair, skin and eyes. Only one fine day, when they wonder again ‘What’s the point of living your life in vain?’ The unnoticed to others child-simpleton Gets nicknamed the ‘Eccentric’ from there on. And, not getting the answers from grown ups And unwilling to settle for doubt, The Eccentric starts writing poems or songs - In the hope to sort it all out… 1981 |
÷óäaêè èç ëþäeé ïoëó÷aþòcÿ. èç òaêèx æe oáû÷íûx ïpoxoæèx c òeì æe öâeòoì âoëoc, ãëaç è êoæè, ío oäíaæäû cïpocèâ áeçoòâeòío : äëÿ ÷eão ìû æèâ¸ì â ìèpe ýòoì? íeçaìeòíûé äo íûíe ïpocòaê ïoëó÷aeò íaçâaíüe "÷óäaê"... è oòâeò íe íaéäÿ ó äpóãèx, íe æeëaÿ òeêó÷êe ïoääaòücÿ, oí cëoãaeò còpoêó èëè còèx. äëÿ ÷eão? ÷òoá â ceáe paçoápaòücÿ... |
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The ones who never submit to fear, Who work, create, step up to the challenge, Who follow their hearts, not the brass’ veneer. When most of the others are more than ready To rip you off, to sell you out, To walk over mountains of dead bodies, "Oh well, that’s life", they would say, no doubt. But « c’est la vie » is a lame pretexte, And, if you look at it through a visor- You’ll see our souls became part of the trade, And morals - invisible as the horizon. Became? It has been like that in ages: The ones who refused to live in the fear – The crowds beat up and whipped as outrageous, To rot in blood, and cry no tear… These rebels were born once in great while, They mastered the art of the truthful speech, So that the history of human kind Is lit up with their minds unleashed… 1982 |
êòo íe ça ïëaòó, íe ça còpax òâopèò, paáoòaeò, äepçaeò, òex êòo "ía coâecòü" - è â ÷èíax . a áoëüøèícòâo ëèøü ça ìoíeòó ãoòoâû ãopëo ïepeãûçòü, ãoòoâû ãopû cäâèíóòü c ìecòa, èx ëoçóíã ÿceí - ýòo æèçíü . ío "c'est la via" - íe oòãoâopêa , âcìoòpèòecü â oòáëecê "íoâûx ÷óâcòâ" , còaë ìèp äóøè ïpeäìeòoì òopãa, còaë ãopèçoíò ìopaëè ïócò, còaë... âïpo÷eì paíüøe òoæe áûëo, òex, êòo "ía coâecòü", íe ça còpax, òoëïa è áèëa è ãíoèëa è ÷acòo â ìóêax è â cëeçax poæäaëècü ýòè eäèíèöû... âëaäeÿ ècòèíû ïepoì, oíè ècòopèè còpaíèöû xpaíèëè coácòâeííûì oãí¸ì... ío è ceãoäíÿ ëþäè ýòè eù¸ ecòü. è íè íaãpaä íe æäóò, íè âocïeâaíüÿ. ãoòoâû æèçíü câoþ oòäaòü ça ÷ecòü, a ÷ecòü - íè ça êaêèe äocòoÿíüÿ... |
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My soul would fly to stars and back, But, once its wings were chopped to size, And it got chained into the deck, Became docile, and tame, and wise… Got swamped in hectic life’s turmoil, Stuck in routine, rubbed down to ash, And tiny feeling crawls in soil, Not ready for a faster dash. It only craves to sleep, to buy, Enjoying fruits of shopping splurges, To argue and to reconcile, And sink into content – no urges… Stars’ ocean tempts my soul no more, Poetic verse is dwindled down, And nothing makes it to allure – It’s simply buried in the ground. My soul would fly to stars and back, But, once its wings were chopped to size, And it got chained into the deck, Became docile, and tame, and wise… 1983 |
ío ïoäpóáèëè êpûëüÿ eé è âoò oía çeìíoþ còaëa, è íe áûâaeò äóø çeìíeé... ïoãpÿçëa â cóeòíoì áoëoòe, çaáèëacü â áûò, ècòepëacü â äûì è ìûcëü â oäíoé øópøèò çaáoòe, íe çaíÿòa íè÷eì èíûì - ïoecòü, ïocïaòü, óápaòü, êóïèòü, c peá¸íêoì ïoèãpaòü â èãpóøêè, c æeíoé ïocïopèòü, ïoëþáèòü è oêóíóòücÿ â áëaãoäóøüe... a çâ¸çäíûx peê äóøa íe çpèò, è cëoã âoëøeáíûé ècòaùèëcÿ, íè÷òo íe áóäèò, íe ìaíèò - òaê æèçíè còèëü ïepeìeíèëcÿ... äóøa ìoÿ äo çâ¸çä ëeòaëa, ío ïoäpóáèëè êpûëüÿ eé è âoò oía çeìíoþ còaëa, è íe áûâaeò äóø çeìíeé... |
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We are prisoners of reality, We are string dolls of theater-life, We are tiny screws, although personalities, And enslaved by the powers above… So, it seems to us – limit is like sky, That our knowledge – more limitless still, That the universe will be standing by, Multiplying the days at its will. Then we wizen up, with mature grace, To the higher knowledge of life, As we realize our uselessness, And we never plunge into dive. And we come to mock up the obvious, The absorbed with mothers’ breast milk, Settle for the familiar monotonous, For the smoothness of comfort-silk… And like sinners kneel in tranquility, Penitential smoke sprayed around, Find amusement in immobility, As we envy young heartbeat sound… 1984 |
âce ìû ïëeííèêè áecêoíe÷íocòè, âce ìû êóêëû òeaòpa cóäüáû, âce ìû âèíòèêè, xoòü è ëè÷íocòè, xoòü è âoëüíûe, ío paáû. è íaì ìûcëèòücÿ èëè êaæeòcÿ, ÷òo ïoçíaíèþ íeò ïpeãpaä, ÷òo âceëeííaÿ pacøèpÿeòcÿ... ÷òo äoïoäëèíío - äíè ëeòÿò... è ïpèxoäèì ìû â cpoêè çpeëocòè ê ïoíèìaíèþ cóeòû, ê ïoíèìaíèþ áecïoëeçíocòè, ê oòpe÷eíèþ oò ìe÷òû. èçäeâaeìcÿ íaä íeçûáëeìûì, íaìè âïèòaííûì c ìoëoêoì, ócïoêaèâaeìcÿ ía äocòèãíóòoì, ía óâèäeííoì, ïpoæèòoì... è êaê ãpeøíèêè çâ¸çäaì êaeìcÿ, ïoêaÿíèé ïócêaeì äûì, íeïoäâèæíocòüþ óâëeêaìcÿ è çaâèäóeì ìoëoäûì... |
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It’s hard to be prepared For death’ eternal glare That seems like ether ghostly, and bodiless and limp. It lurks so close around, Drips poison to the ground, Its knuckles shaking wildly from ever tightened grip. Its sward has jagged edges It hovers over nations, All shiny, aimed precisely - at innocence and vice. As they get swollen in it, It comes and takes one minute, One small miscalculation – and heads will roll like dice… 1987 |
íeóæòo âaì íe æóòêo? âeäü cìepòü coâceì íe øóòêa, íe ïpèçpaê ýôèìepíûé, áecïëoòíûé, íeæèâoé, è xoäèò oía pÿäoì, íaïoëíeííaÿ ÿäoì, è çëoáoþ ê æèâóùèì, c oòòo÷eííoé êocoé... oòòo÷eía äo áëecêa çëoâeùaÿ æeëeçêa, íe paç oía íaä ìèpoì âçëeòaëa áeç òpóäa ... íeóæòo âaì íe æóòêo? âeäü cìepòü oäía ìèíóòêa, oøèáêa, poê, cëó÷aéíocòü, âçìax - cêoøeía òpaâa... |
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Hover in the clowds like the birds in sky, Soaking in with their tired eyes Morning heat of the rising sun. But through whirls of time and centuries, Shoved into the penitentiaries, Drenched in fear to the shaking knees, They have lost that gift, and it’s gone. Gift to marvel in nature’s mystery, Life’s events and human history, See the quarrels, wars and injuries, All the hassle and the crime. Gasping for a breath in the stuffy cells, Wishing traffic honks were tower bells, Dreaming to turn back into the birds, With the human faces, this time… July, 1988 |
è ëeòaëè íaä ãpaíèöaìè, æaäío âïèòûâaÿ ëèöaìè, coëíöa óòpeííeão æap, ío çaâep÷eííûe âpeìeíeì, íeïocèëüíûì cìÿòû ápeìeíeì, oùóùaÿ óæac òeìeíeì, ïoòepÿëè ëþäè äap. áoæèé äap ïapèòü íaä âe÷íocòüþ, íaä coáûòèé cêopoòe÷íocòüþ, íaä paçäopaìè, oáèäaìè, cóeòoé è ìaÿòoé. oíè ìó÷aþòcÿ â êaìepax, oäèío÷íûx, òecíûx, ìpaìopíûx, è ìe÷òaþò âíoâü còaòü ïòèöaìè c ÷eëoâe÷ecêèìè ëèöaìè... |
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Inside the shape that’s porous, muddy… They interact, the acidic cells, Encased in the cocoon of body. And in that shell, where heart and galls And livers cluster all together, We nurture our fragile souls, Not yet explained - and for the better. But in the predetermined hour, That soul will ease into a flight, And separate from body-tower, That will, like empty vessel, slide… And mix with grass, and mulch, and ground, Get piled in snow, get soaked in rain, And years will fly, through space and sound, Until that vessel fills again… July, 1992 |
c áoêoâ còeía - còeía áeç oêoí. èäeò ïpoöecc - áopüáa êècëoò. ìû çaìópoâaíû êaê â êoêoí. â òeëecíoé, òecíoé oáoëo÷êe ãäe cepäöe, ïe÷eíü, êèøêè, ïo÷êè pacòeò âìecòèëèùe - äóøa, aêêóìóëÿòop èíòeëeêòa, coápaíüe çíaíèé, ÷óâcòâ è ãäe-òo íeoáúÿcíèìaÿ ïoêa. ío â íóæíûé cpoê, coçpeâ äëÿ äeëa, oòäeëèòücÿ äóøa ëeãêo è óëeòèò, a ápeíío òeëo ïócòûì cocóäoì ïëþx ía äío... âepí¸òcÿ â êpóã âeùeé ïpèpoäû, pacïaâøècü ía ìoëeêóë poé, è ïoòeêóò áeccòpacòío ãoäû, ïoêa coçpeeò â íeé äpóãoé... |
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And we will dream of winding roads To most beloved town, Those roads we're pounding so long - Since feet can touch the ground… And we will dream of ocean waves, High tides and quiet sounds, Seductive and exotic lands, And coming home, which counts… And we will dream of our first kiss, Shy smiles and timid touches, That boy or girl so sweetly missed – Wherever life would launch us… All this we’ll dream in final days, Sedated, no more fears - While our family and friends Are swallowing the tears… 1997 |
è äaëüíèe äopoãè... ìû âûáèpaeì èx ïoêa eù¸ øaãaþò íoãè. è áóäeò cíèòücÿ oêeaí, ïpoëèâû è çaëèâû, ìaíÿùèé âeòep äaëüíèx còpaí, è ìèã ëþáâè c÷acòëèâoé... eù¸ ïpècíèòcÿ äeòcêèé caä è ïepâaÿ äeâ÷oíêa, cëaäêa êaê ì¸ä èëü ìapìeëaä, óïpÿìa êaê ïe÷oíêa. è áóäóò cíèòücÿ ýòè äíè ïoêa òû ïoä íapêoçoì, ïoêa âce áëèçêèe òâoè ãëoòaþò ìoë÷a cë¸çû... |
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Their parents long been buried, Remaining hair is sprinkled gray From grieves and losses morbid. I’m dodging minutes, standing tall, As they are flying near, And like the bullets, chose from all The ones that close and dear… And when horizon - life and death – Is looming right ahead me, My muscles, hit by seizure waves, Are all convulsing madly. The generations and their deeds, The burden of the moment… And pressing on my shoulder is The finish line, I own it. 1998 |
íeò áaáóøêè è äeäa. è â ãpóäü ìoþ còpeëoé ëeòÿò coáûòèé çëûe áeäû. ëoâëþ ìèíóò ÿ â ïoëíûé pocò câèpeïoe ïaäeíüe, a æèçíè ôpoíò, êaê xoëoêocò, cpeçaeò íaceëeíüe. òeïepü ãpaíèöa íeáûòüÿ ïpoxoäèò ïpeäo ìíoþ. è ìûøöû cóäopãa câeëa óïpóãoþ âoëíoþ... ãpóç ïoêoëeíèé, èx äeëa, oòâeòcòâeííocòü ìoìeíòa... è ía ïëe÷è ìoè ëeãëa óæ ôèíèøíaÿ ëeíòa ... |
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It’s so nice to be alone with you, As we sing so many songs we do, And the glow of love that warms our lives Will not falter in the trying times… Life’s so different with you around, Even when there is the snow storm out, Even through the patter of the rain, I would be with only you, again. Hold me tight and hug me strong, my friend, Our love will never come to end, Through the years and even storms we will Make our feeling grow stronger still… It’s so nice to be alone with you, As we sing so many songs we do, And the glow of love that warms our lives Will not falter in the trying times… 2000 |
íaì c òoáoþ xopoøo âäâo¸ì. cêoëüêo ïeceí ìû eù¸ cïo¸ì. è oãoíü ëþáâè , ÷òo ãpeeò íac, íe ïoãacíeò â caìûé òpóäíûé ÷ac. ìíe c òoáoþ xopoøo âceãäa, äaæe ecëè ça oêíoì ïópãa, äaæe ecëè ëü¸ò óíûëûé äoæäü, äaæe ecëè òû ìeíÿ íe æä¸øü... ïócòü âècêè óêpûë áeëecûé äûì, ïócòü coáûòèé xoä íeoòâpaòèì, ío äóøoé câoeé ìû íe cocòapèìcÿ, cepäöe íaøe ìoëoäûì ocòaíeòcÿ... è íe âaæío , ÷òo ceé÷ac âoêpóã, âc¸ áeëûì áeëo oò cíeæíûx âüþã, íaì c òoáoþ xopoøo âäâo¸ì. ìíoão ïeceí ìû o òoì cïo¸ì ... oáíèìè ìeíÿ, ïpèæìècü cèëüíeé... ïócòü ìeëüêaþò cèëóýòû äíeé, ïócòü ãoäa ëeòÿò - ío ìíe c òoáoé íe còpaøíû oíè è âe÷íûé áoé... íaì c òoáoþ xopoøo âäâo¸ì... ìíoão ïeceí ìû eù¸ cïo¸ì... è oãoíü ëþáâè, ÷òo câeòèò â íac, íe ïoãacíeò â caìûé òpóäíûé ÷ac. |
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I’ve waited many years for something quite so rare… My heart is rocked by squall, so sweet and wondrous, Most valuable is that my toxic state is shared. At this threshold of crazy generations I have discovered you - the treasure of this world… And now you're mine - affectionate, vivacious, The flicker of the joy, like always prescious gold. There is no longer need for that escape door, The moment, freeze in time, be endless like a kiss… And this, my sweet, was worthy to be born for… My only one regret is all the years we’ve missed! 2000 |
xoòÿ óæ ëeò íe ìaëo e¸ âceãäa ÿ æäaë - è âoò oía co ìíoé cëeãêa äpoæèò äóøa oò cëaäocòíoão øêâaëa è ÷òo âaæíeé âceão - âçaèìeí ceé "çaïoé" ía póáeæe câoèx äópíûx äecÿòèëeòèé, ÿ âcòpeòèë , ÷òo ècêaë, ÿ âcòpeòèë câoé oòâeò è íaêoíeö-òo æèçíü ìíe äapèò ëacêè âeòep, è paäocòè oãoíü, è c÷acòüÿ ò¸ïëûé câeò... âoò íeêóäa áeæaòü è íe ê ÷eìó còpeìèòücÿ , ìãíoâeíèe çaìpè - áóäü âe÷ío êaê ìe÷òa... äëÿ ýòoão âïoëíe ìíe còoèëo poäèòücÿ è æaëêo ëèøü ÷óòü-÷óòü óøeäøèe ãoäa... |
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To scare, to avenge, to plot, And punish in the name of idols Those who won't worship their God. The terror, weapon of the villains, The scum that Earth has left behind, Fanatics, savages unreal, Who follow tracks of evil guide. Step on your bones for higher purpose, All ready for self-sacrifice, Incapable to grasp that pauper In spirit – cripple cut to size. And impotent of the creation – No curiousity of mind Their slogan, “kill civilization” Is louder than build in kind… Oblivious to victims, proffer And happy taking lives away, From all the "infidels", and offer, "Our God is teaching us that way"… Insane in their premonitions - This world was made for those who live – Regardless of the faith, tradition - This life, the treasure we receive… The terror, murder of the "godless" To scare, to avenge, to plot, And punish in the name of idols Those who won't worship their God. September 12, 2001 |
òeppop... óáèécòâo íeâèíoâíûx... ÷òoá çaïóãaòü, óíèçèòü, oòoìcòèòü... ÷òoá ïoêapaòü âo èìÿ áoãa êpoâüþ òex êòo íe xo÷eò èäoë âoçíocèòü... òeppop âceãäa opóæèe ïoäoíêoâ, oòápocoâ ÷eëoâe÷ecêoé äóøè, ôaíaòèêoâ, íeâeæecòâeíío çâoíêèx, ãoòoâûx ïo còoïaì èäòè ÷óæèì èëü ïo êocòÿì ê êaêoé-òo öeëè "âûcøeé", ãoòoâûx äaæe æepòâoâaòü coáoé, è íeäoïoíèìaþùèx, ÷òo íèùèé, ÷òo íèùèé äóxoì òoæe, ÷òo áoëüíoé... ó íèx ía coçèäaíèe íeò cèëû, óìa, cïocoáíocòeé, óïopcòâa è òpóäa â íèx còpacòü paçpóøèòü paçóì ïoãëoòèëa - ëoìaòü íe còpoèòü, áûëo òaê âceãäa... ío èì-òo ÷òo? poäèâøècü c ïècòoëeòoì, c íoæoì, íe c ìoëoêoì âïèòaâ êopaí... ïpoêëÿcòü öèâèëèçaöèþ oáeòoì è ãoëoâoþ â çeìëþ... òóïo, êaê áapaí... è èì ïëeâaòü ía æepòâû , ía còpaäaíüÿ. è äaæe áoëüøe - paäocòü æèçíü oòíÿòü ó "paçâpaùeííoão, pacòë¸ííoão coçäaíüÿ" ceáÿ ïpè ýòoì áoãoì oùóùaòü... íeò paçóìa ó íeäo÷eëoâeêoâ. íeò çíaíèé, ïoíèìaíèÿ ïpè÷èí. íeò coâecòè. äóøa â íèx íe coãpeòa. èëü ïócò e¸ çaìûçãaííûé êóâøèí... áeçóìöû. ýòoò ìèp ó íac oäèí. è ìoæeò âo âceëeííoé áecêoíe÷íoé eäèícòâeííûé, êoòopûé ÷eëoâe÷íûé... eäèícòâeííûé âceãäa íeïoâòopèì... òeppop... óáèécòâo íeâèíoâíûx... ÷òoá çaïóãaòü, óíèçèòü, oòoìcòèòü... ÷òoá ïoêapaòü âo èìÿ áoãa êpoâüþ òex êòo íe xo÷eò èäoë âoçíocèòü... |
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