Облака плывут, облака,
Не спеша плывут как в кино.
А я цыпленка ем табака,
Я коньячку принял полкило.
Облака плывут в Абакан,
Не спеша плывут облака...
Им тепло небось, облакам,
А я продрог насквозь, на века!
Я подковой вмерз в санный след,
В лед, что я кайлом ковырял!
Ведь недаром я двадцать лет
Протрубил по тем лагерям.
До сих пор в глазах - снега наст!
До сих пор в ушах - шмона гам!..
Эй, подайте мне ананас
И коньячку еще двести грамм!
Облака плывут, облака,
В милый край плывут, в Колыму,
И не нужен им адвокат,
Им амнистия - ни к чему.
Я и сам живу - первый сорт!
Двадцать лет, как день, разменял!
Я в пивной сижу, словно лорд,
И даже зубы есть у меня!
Облака плывут на восход,
Им ни пенсии, ни хлопот...
А мне четвертого - перевод,
И двадцать третьего - перевод.
И по этим дням, как и я,
Полстраны сидит в кабаках!
И нашей памятью в те края
Облака плывут, облака.
И нашей памятью в те края
Облака плывут, облака...
Не спеша плывут как в кино.
А я цыпленка ем табака,
Я коньячку принял полкило.
Облака плывут в Абакан,
Не спеша плывут облака...
Им тепло небось, облакам,
А я продрог насквозь, на века!
Я подковой вмерз в санный след,
В лед, что я кайлом ковырял!
Ведь недаром я двадцать лет
Протрубил по тем лагерям.
До сих пор в глазах - снега наст!
До сих пор в ушах - шмона гам!..
Эй, подайте мне ананас
И коньячку еще двести грамм!
Облака плывут, облака,
В милый край плывут, в Колыму,
И не нужен им адвокат,
Им амнистия - ни к чему.
Я и сам живу - первый сорт!
Двадцать лет, как день, разменял!
Я в пивной сижу, словно лорд,
И даже зубы есть у меня!
Облака плывут на восход,
Им ни пенсии, ни хлопот...
А мне четвертого - перевод,
И двадцать третьего - перевод.
И по этим дням, как и я,
Полстраны сидит в кабаках!
И нашей памятью в те края
Облака плывут, облака.
И нашей памятью в те края
Облака плывут, облака...
Language: English
Versione inglese di Gerald Smith
in Alexander Galich Songs and poems; transl. by Gerald Stanton Smith, Ann Arbor: Ardis, 1983, ISBN 0-88233-952-4
in Alexander Galich Songs and poems; transl. by Gerald Stanton Smith, Ann Arbor: Ardis, 1983, ISBN 0-88233-952-4
CLOUDS
Oh, the clouds go by, floating by,
Like in films they float, soft and slow;
I’m chewing chicken (spiced and fried),
And my brandy’s running low.
Floating clouds sail off to the east,
Soft and slow they float, soft and slow;
I bet that they’re warm as toast,
But me, I’ve been chilled to the bone!
Once I froze like iron to ice,
Digging roads with a pick in my hand!
I left twenty long years of my life
Back in those bloody labour camps.
I can see that frozen snow-crust,
Hear the cursing when we were frisked . . .
Hey waiter! -- pineapple chunks,
And another double of this!
Rolling clouds go by, sailing far
To that dear old home in the east,
They don’t know what an amnesty’s for,
They don’t need any lawyer to plead.
Now I’m living a life without care,
Twenty years flew straight past like a dream;
Here I sit like a lord in this bar,
And I’ve even got a few teeth!
Clouds roll by to the morning sun,
With no pension, no trouble or strife;
As for me, well, twice a month,
I collect what’s mine by right.
And on those two days, just like me,
Half this country sits in the bars!
And the clouds roll by to the east,
Rolling by in all of our hearts . . .
And those clouds roll by to the east,
Rolling by in all of our hearts . .
Oh, the clouds go by, floating by,
Like in films they float, soft and slow;
I’m chewing chicken (spiced and fried),
And my brandy’s running low.
Floating clouds sail off to the east,
Soft and slow they float, soft and slow;
I bet that they’re warm as toast,
But me, I’ve been chilled to the bone!
Once I froze like iron to ice,
Digging roads with a pick in my hand!
I left twenty long years of my life
Back in those bloody labour camps.
I can see that frozen snow-crust,
Hear the cursing when we were frisked . . .
Hey waiter! -- pineapple chunks,
And another double of this!
Rolling clouds go by, sailing far
To that dear old home in the east,
They don’t know what an amnesty’s for,
They don’t need any lawyer to plead.
Now I’m living a life without care,
Twenty years flew straight past like a dream;
Here I sit like a lord in this bar,
And I’ve even got a few teeth!
Clouds roll by to the morning sun,
With no pension, no trouble or strife;
As for me, well, twice a month,
I collect what’s mine by right.
And on those two days, just like me,
Half this country sits in the bars!
And the clouds roll by to the east,
Rolling by in all of our hearts . . .
And those clouds roll by to the east,
Rolling by in all of our hearts . .
Language: Hebrew
translated by Yaakov Sharet
http://www.israbard.net/israbard/perso...
http://www.israbard.net/israbard/perso...
עננים
עננים שטים, עננים,
לאיטם דואים, למרחק,
וזולל אפרוח אני,
ומרביץ בקבוקון של קוניאק.
עננים שטים בדממה,
לאיטם בכיוון קולימה,
ודרכם אולי חמימה,
אך אני קפוא עד אימה.
לגלידים שם הפכו שתי רגליי,
עת בקרח חצבתי בורות,
לא לשווא העברתי שנותיי
שתי עשרות באותם מחנות.
עננים שטים, עננים,
למחוז אהוב קולימה,
לא נחוץ להם עורך דין,
לא דרושה להם חנינה.
משלגים סונוורו שם עיניי
בעוזניי עוד רוחש קול חיפוש...
היי, הגישו לי אננס,
עוד קוניאק לאזרח ארץ-רוס!
ומתוק לי פה במסבאה,
גם אני חי נפלא בחיי
העשרים חיש חלפו ליממה,
ואפילו נותרו לי שיניי.
עננים שטים למזרח,
בלי שכר, בלי לדאוג, בלי לחלום,
ואני מקבל פה גמלה -
פעמיים בחודש תשלום.
ואיתי לאותם שני ימים
משתכרת מחצית האומה,
ודוהה על גבי עננים
זיכרוניי לשלגי קולימה.
עננים שטים, עננים,
לאיטם דואים, למרחק,
וזולל אפרוח אני,
ומרביץ בקבוקון של קוניאק.
עננים שטים בדממה,
לאיטם בכיוון קולימה,
ודרכם אולי חמימה,
אך אני קפוא עד אימה.
לגלידים שם הפכו שתי רגליי,
עת בקרח חצבתי בורות,
לא לשווא העברתי שנותיי
שתי עשרות באותם מחנות.
עננים שטים, עננים,
למחוז אהוב קולימה,
לא נחוץ להם עורך דין,
לא דרושה להם חנינה.
משלגים סונוורו שם עיניי
בעוזניי עוד רוחש קול חיפוש...
היי, הגישו לי אננס,
עוד קוניאק לאזרח ארץ-רוס!
ומתוק לי פה במסבאה,
גם אני חי נפלא בחיי
העשרים חיש חלפו ליממה,
ואפילו נותרו לי שיניי.
עננים שטים למזרח,
בלי שכר, בלי לדאוג, בלי לחלום,
ואני מקבל פה גמלה -
פעמיים בחודש תשלום.
ואיתי לאותם שני ימים
משתכרת מחצית האומה,
ודוהה על גבי עננים
זיכרוניי לשלגי קולימה.
Contributed by Max-Dn - 2015/11/25 - 13:14
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Note for non-Italian users: Sorry, though the interface of this website is translated into English, most commentaries and biographies are in Italian and/or in other languages like French, German, Spanish, Russian etc.
"Clouds" is a great example on Galich's use of symbols and his clarity of expression, as it explains the feelings of a person that has just been released out of a forced labour camp. It is likely to have taken place in 1953, after Stalin's death, when a large amount of "criminals" were released due to wrong judgment when they were arrested; many of them did no real crime, but were arrested due to "breaching" Article 58 instead. The speaker relives that confusion and pain that he has lived through, as depicted in lines 9-10 and 13-14. The speaker does genuinely hate what came out of the camps, but he believes that he is still lucky as he's "even got a few teeth"; most of the people that entered the Gulags and managed to survive through came out disfigured due to the torture that they had to endure, insanely heavy workloads, and malnutrition. Yet, the speaker gets "what's [his] by right", implying that he is on a disability pension, but that's enough to feed him for a day in a restaurant. The amount of people that went through this was huge, and the poem clearly references it in line 30 ("Half this country sits in the bars!") and Galich references all of these people through the use of one such person.
Galich uses an implied, and occasionally direct contrast as a way to compare the clouds and the speaker, as shown in lines 7-8 ("warm as toast" compared to "chilled to the bone"), lines 19-20 ("They don't know what an amnesty's for, They don't need any lawyer to plead.") and in lines 25-26 ("Clouds roll by to the morning sun, With no pension, no trouble or strife;"). Obviously, the clouds symbolize freedom while the speaker is a symbol for all the people that have been tortured to no end by the government. Naturally, the government did not allow the publication such poems that embarrass the Soviet Union and Galich's work never were published in the USSR during his lifetime. Galich worried about this problem constantly and the need to be heard is required to be a poet. From there, he wrote a poem about this problem and the limitations that he and many other poets endure.
An Analysis of Galich's Work