Singer: Vladimir Vysotsky. Page 1

A quarter of a century in the works, Yes, care, I,
All the run, in a hurry, Yes hurry,
But as the time will stand free
In the churchyard to walk out.
There at the cemetery so quietly,
No enemies, no friends can not see
All kulturnenko all dignified,
Exceptional grace.

Love you and hard times
In the future, and the past in the present!..

I have less than half a century - more than forty
I lived twelve years you and the Lord preserved.
I have something to sing, standing before the Almighty,
I have something to make it up to him.

And below the ice, and top. Toil between.
Punch whether Il pierce the top of the bottom?

Heroes I'm not looking for - in each of us buried at least a thousand characters.

Close the slender ranks,
Tight zakuporte ears.
Left one has no woes
But I will come for your souls!

I doubt - damn it! -
Long ago the Boers drilled:
Why have we become people?
Why talking then?
Why, living on four
We got up, straightened the back?
Then - and this God-
To take up stones and clubs.
We managed to know a lot
Everywhere places to make a skull
To betray and to crucify him,
And take the hook with your own kind.

I stubbornly aspire to the bottom,
Breath breaks, presses the ears...
Why go to a depth of -
How bad was I on land?

And the monster is sitting on the freak
And a freak others chases,
And it's all at people,
Which kind welcomes
Everyone seems to approve.

... I often send letters asking: "What do you mean in this or that song?". Well, by the way, what I meant, and wrote. But as I understand it, depends on many things, from measures of education, from the experience of life and so on. Sometimes some get to the point, sometimes nearby and I just love the most when close: it means that the song was something that even I didn't pay much attention. Maybe he didn't mean it exactly and specifically, but something like that out there somewhere in the subconscious was.
And it would be terrible if we all had in mind when writing, then we would have just nothing at all written. Can you imagine?!
And what can we say about Dostoevsky, who at the same time ten or fifteen plans? He all the time they were calculated, recorded, and then combined? No, it just came out that he was such a gifted person that never thought about it. Genius! <...> That's why, when people are standing close to each other, see in my songs something different, but is similar to the problem that I'm touching, I'm very happy.
It is inexplicable things, and they make themselves. It is a sign of some mystery in poetry, when every man sees in the song something for yourself. I even tried on all such letters to correspond to one of a comprehensive song that had a chorus with these lines: "Thank you, correspondents, what you must understand me." But then I gave up.

I'm not being rude, but the answer is the same, -
And letters up to the end did not read.
And your praise and compliments
Advances me - not kicked me:
From your strings, my correspondents,
Prameet the path and dries the track.
Sergeants, sailors, intellectuals, -
Sorry everyone the answer:
I write to you, my correspondents,
Nights songs - that's ten years!

Thank you, my correspondents,
You misunderstood me!
My friends - sorry, that is not combat -
From the sea, from the machine and from the plow,-
Thank you for sending me evil
And even the unsuccessful poems.

I stand quietly in front of the line.
This time I stand to face him.
Sounds like something awarded,
Awarded and named, well done!

I have a lot of friends. My God has given. Some people drink and do not give me, others don't drink, but I did not expostulate. All friends look the same - not because similar, but because friends. And I will die without them, that's for sure. Most afraid of any of them to disappoint. This keeps all the time in the nerve and on the stage, and in songs, and in my bragging.