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Mar. 31st, 2012

Also: because I've neglecting Russian dreadfully since February, but have neither the energy nor the focus to sit down with a vocabulary list right now, I've come up with this plan: I'll pick one song per day, and (try to) translate the lyrics. Something at least should stick that way, even if the translations are faulty. Everything will go under a cut, so I hope this won't be too annoying and spammy, but if I don't do it publicly, I won't do it at all.

Starting with the first Russian (still Soviet, actually) rock group I came across a few years ago almost by accident, but fell in love with almost immediately, one of the most famous groups from that time, KINO. This is from their 1988 album Gruppa krovi (Blood Type), Legenda (Legend); picked mostly because I like the lyrics:




Среди связок в горле комом теснится крик,
Но настала пора, и тут уж кричи, не кричи.
Лишь потом кто-то долго не сможет забыть,
Как, шатаясь, бойцы об траву вытирали мечи,
И как хлопало крыльями чёрное племя ворон,
Как смеялось небо, а потом прикусило язык.
И дрожала рука у того, кто остался жив,
И внезапно в вечность вдруг превратился миг.
И горел погребальным костром закат,
И волками смотрели звёзды из облаков,
Как, раскинув руки, лежали ушедшие в ночь
И как спали вповалку живые, не видя снов.
А жизнь - только слово. Есть лишь любовь и есть смерть.
Эй, а кто будет петь, если все будут спать?
Смерть стоит того, чтобы жить,
А любовь - стоит того, чтобы ждать...

A scream is stuck in your throat like a lump between your vocal chords,
But the time has come, and then you cry out, or you don't.
Only later someone for a long time won't be able to forget
How the fighters, staggering, wiped their swords on the grass,
And how the black tribe of crows flapped its wings,
How the sky laughed, and then bit its tongue.
The shaking hands of those who remained alive,
And the moment all of a sudden turning into eternity.
Sunset burning like a funeral pyre,
And the stars looking out from behind the clouds like wolves.
How those who had gone into the night were lying with arms spread wide
And how the living slept side by side, a dreamless sleep.
Yet life is but a word — there is only love and death.
Ey, but who will sing, if all will sleep?
Death is worth living,
And love is worth waiting for.

 

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