"Vladimir Vysotsky. Selected Songs (translated by Ilya Shambat) " - читать интересную книгу автора

And nobody heard but a sound as on it people walked
In morning they shot in the face the quiescent mountain echo
And stones just like tears did burst from the wounded rock.

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Unfinished Flight

Someone saw the fruit, that could not get ripe
They shook the trunk - it fell, just so...
Here's the song of him who did not finish his song
And that he had a voice - he did not know.

Perhaps he was not on good terms with fate,
And on bad terms with circumstance.
And the tight string lay on a fret
That was broken in single place.

He started shyly with note C
But did not finish it, you see..
His music was incomplete
Did not make anyone's soul rise..
The dog did bark, and the cat
Was hunting mice.

It's funny! Funny, yes it is! It is.
But he made jokes - they had no grace,
He did not finish tasting wine
Did not even touch it to his face.

While he started the argument
Unhurried and uncertain
Just like, on forehead, drops of sweat
The soul did shimmer through the skin.

He began the duel on the rug,
Barely, barely he began.
The judge did not open the score.
And little he saw of the game.

He sought to know all of it,
But did not reach, did not...
Not till the riddle, not the root,
He did not dig until the deep,
And her, that is still by herself,
He did not finish loving!

It's funny! Funny, yes it is! It is.
And he did hurry - all for none.
And all that he did not resolve