to A. Zhigulin
If there is a raven up above
It means things are moving toward war.
So there shouldn’t be a war
The raven has to be killed.
To kill the raven
A gun has to be loaded.
But when we start loading it
Everyone will want to shoot.
And as soon as the shooting starts
The bullet will find a hole.
The bullet pities nobody,
Wants lo hit just anybody,
One of theirs, one of ours...
That’s it, there’s nothing more.
That’s it, there’s nothing more.
That’s it, there’s nobody left.
Except for that raven,
And now there’s nobody to shoot it.
А. Жигулину
Если ворон в вышине,
дело, стало быть, к войне.
Чтобы не было войны,
надо ворона убить.
Чтобы ворона убить,
надо ружья зарядить.
А как станем заряжать,
всем захочется стрелять.
Ну а как стрельба пойдет,
пуля дырочку найдет.
Ей не жалко никого,
ей попасть бы хоть в кого,
хоть в чужого, хоть в свово..
Во, и боле ничего.
Во, и боле ничего.
Во, и боле никого.
Кроме ворона того:
стрельнуть некому в него.
«Decrepit, with no more teeth, / A scroll of years on her horns. / The rough herdsman has been beating her / On the fields she crossed. Her heart doesn’t fancy noise; / Mice are scratching in the corner. / She is thinking sad thoughts / About a white-legged calf. They never gave the m...»
«Now the golden leaves have started spinning / On the pinkish water of the pond, / Dainty flock of butterflies now thinning, / Heading for a star they will abscond. Love for evening’s now begun to smoulder, / Yellow valley’s hue to heart I’ve cleaved. / Nascent wind upon the birch’...»
«My love has changed. I know you feel / Upset about the situation: / The crescent's sweeper couldn't spill / The pools of lyrical creation. / / Upset, but taking in good part / The star that fell upon your brows, / You spilt you heart about the house / But there's no house in you...»
«Don’t berate me! It just so happens — / I'm no type to sell words off-rack. / Golden head of mine, growing heavy, / Has reclined altogether back. Neither town nor the country endear me: / That my love should have still been true! / I’ll quit everything. Grow a beard, / And move of...»