вторник, 2 февраля 2010 г.


Each January 25 millions of people in and outside Russia mark the birthday the legendary singer-songwriter and actor Vladimir Vysotsky who died in July 1980. He was only 42…

He would have been 71 now but people still love his songs; they translate and sing them in different languages, no longer told not to by government officials, and trying to find in these songs answers to the most acute problems of today’s life.

A prominent Russian actor, lyricist, and folksinger whose social and political satire spoke of the ironies and hardships of a strictly regulated Soviet society… While risking official displeasure, Vysotsky became an immensely popular figure, revered by the Russian people even after his death. A high-strung figure, quick to respond to life’s joys and hardships, he was slowly killing himself with booze and drugs. His son, Nikita, says many people see Vladimir Vysotsky as the ultimate reflection of the Russian soul.

Father’s birthday is celebrated in Moscow, elsewhere in Russia, everywhere Russian people live in the world, Nikita Vysotsky says.

Vladimir Vysotsky’s widow, the famous French actress Marina Vladi, will soon be in Moscow to present a new play of her own making based on the book she wrote, titled Vladimir or the Aborted Flight.

“These are excerpts from Volodya’s songs and poems which I sing and recite in Russian and French,” Marina Vladi says. These are my stories about our life together, about the love we shared…”

This is probably more than just a woman’s tribute to her husband’s memory; it is a tribute by a great actress to a great actor Vysotsky certainly was. The “best Hamlet” to grace the stage of Moscow’s famous Taganka Theater, Vladimir Vysotsky played the part of the tormented Danish prince a whole 317 times. Or maybe he was playing himself? That is the question…

Source:The Voice of Russia

Купола | The Cupolas

The Cupolas

How Ill see it now, how Ill breathe it in?
Air is harsh before the lightning, harsh and choking.
How Ill hear it all today, how I will sing.
From the fairy tales the wise birds are singing.

The bird Sirin is joyfully grinning,
Making happy, calling from nests.
And against him is now despairing,
Wounds the soul the strange Alkonost.

Just like seven promised strings
Ring without stop -
Thus the bird Gamayun
Imparting hope!

In the blue sky, pierced with belltowers,
Copper bell, copper bell,
Will be joyful or will be sore.
Russian cupolas are dressed in pure gold
That the good Lord would notice them more.

I stand, like before an timeless mystery,
Before great and fairy-tale country.
Before salty - bitter - sweet and sour land
Blue, spring-water, and full of rye.

Eating dirt fat till the rust,
Horses go down till stirrups,
But they pull me with sleepy great power
That has rotted, bloated from sleep.

Just like seven promised strings
Ring without stop -
Thus the bird Gamayun
Imparting hope!

The soul, beaten with losses and sorrows,
The soul, torn till its narrow,
If till blood the cloth has been worn,
I will patch with the golden patches
That the good Lord will notice it more.

Mikhail Shemyakin

Sarò perduto nella contemplazione quando inizierò a respirare?
L'aria è fredda per la tempesta, il freddo mi soffoca.
Cosa sarà cantato per me oggi, cosa ascolterò?
Gli uccelli cantano le favole del saggio.

L'uccello Sirin è una gioia, è certo che canta per me,
Mi rende felice, mi chiama dal nido.
Ma gli è di fronte, disperato e piange,
Ha l'anima ferita lo splendido Alkonost.

Come un prezioso sette corde
Ha cantato ancora una volta,
L'uccello Gamayun
Che mi da speranza!

Il cielo blu, è trafitto dai campanili,
Campanili di rame, con campane di bronzo,
Sarò gioioso o addolorato.
Le cupole sono rivestite di oro puro
Così che il buon Dio le noti di più.

Io sono come sempre davanti ad un mistero,
Il più grande e fiabesco paese.
Prima salato, poi dolce, amaro e poi aspro territorio
Blu, primavera, acqua, e abbondanza di grano.

Ho mangiato lo sporco grasso fino al fondo,
I cavalli affondano fino alle staffe,
Ma mi attirano, sono assonnato,
Li vedo zoppicare mentre il sogno svanisce.

Proprio come ha cantato il sette corde
Il mio essere risorge
Come l'uccello Gamayun
Che mi da speranza!

L'anima mia percossa e dolorante,
L'anima mia strappata, poi rattoppata,
Prima che il sangue uscisse, con pezze d'oro,
Pezze d'oro che ho pagato, l'anima mia è coperta d'oro,
Così che il buon Dio la noti di più.

the songs in different languages: http://www.wysotsky.com/

4 комментария:

irinazak комментирует...

Уважаемая Ласточка,

позвольте обратиться к вам с небольшой просьбой.

Меня зовут Ирина я исследователь в области социальных наук.

Я подготовила статью для книги о самоидентификации в русской диаспоре ("Negotiating Linguistic, Cultural and Social Identities in the Russian World", издательство Питер Ланг).

В своем методе я использовала некоторые картинки. Одна из них - фотография Высоцкого
Если я правильно поняла, это - ваш сайт, и я прошу вашего разрешения использовать эту фотографию в своей публикации.
Если это - н Ваш сайт, буду рада, если подскажете к кому обратиться.
С удовольствием предоставлю всю необходимую для вас информацию.
С уважением и благодарностью,
Доктор Ирина Зак

Пожалуйста, ответьте мне на Irina.Zak@gmail.com

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