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Старинная солдатская песня

Bulat Šalvovič Okudžava / Булат Шалвович Oкуджава
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English Version by Evgenij Bonver
STARINNAJA SOLDATSKAJA PESNJATHE OLD SOLDIERS' SONG
  
Otšumeli pesni našego polka,There’s no more a sound of our battle song,
otzveneli zvonkie kopyta.Nor a ring of hoofs of our horses,
Puljami probito dnišće kotelka,Bullets made the holes the mess-kit along,
markitantka junaja ubita.The young sulteress’s, too, midst our losses.
  
Nas ostalos’ malo : my da naša boľ.We are left not many – we and our sore –
Nas nemnogo, i vragov nemnogo.Few our solders and few ones of foes,
Živy my pokuda, frontovaja goľ,We’re alive till now – baggers of the war,
a pogibnem – rajskaja doroga.Killed, we’ll go by the Eden’s roads.
  
Ruku na zatvore, golova v toske,Our hands lay on gun’s locks, in a pine – our heads,
a duša uže vzletela vrode.And our souls as if fled to heavens,
Dlja čego my pišem krov’ju na peske ?Why to write the farewell with our blood on sands?
Naši pis’ma ne nužny prirode.Nature has not needs in our letters.
  
Spite sebe, bratcy, - vse pridet opjať :Sleep forever, brothers, - all will come again:
novye rodjatsja komandiry,Will be born the new set of commanders,
novye soldaty budut polučaťAnd the new young solders – with their own pain –
večnye kazennye kvartiry.Will receive official apartments.
  
Spite sebe, bratcy,- vse načnetsja vnov’,Sleep forever brothers, – all will come again,
vse dolžno v prirode povtoriťsja :All will be repeated as the recent:
i slova, i puli, i ljubov’, i krov’…Love and words and bullets, blood and deathly pain…
vremeni ne budet pomiriťsja.But a time to make a truce, sufficient.


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