A keresés eredménye

And the Paint Will Wash Away

And the paint will wash away,
Then holds on,
Working, creaking
Twisting the gears.
 
Flickering and then dark,
The sky begins to ring.
Don't think about it grinding,
Twisting the gears.
 
Everything that's around you,
Is living, just like you. 1
The remainder creaks too,
Twisting the gears.
 
Twisting the gears,
Twisting the gears.
Twisting.
 

• 1. I think this is what they meant. I'll probs be lynched for it.

Show's Over

Versions: #1
Hands hooked, muzzles squared,
Under brows came sidelong glances.
He came to the shack,
To poison them with sausage.
 
Holding wine glasses sullenly,
Pouring one-at-a-time.
He came to the shack,
To poison them with sausage.
 
Credits roll, the show's over.
You run home barefoot,
To the shack,
To poison them with sausage.
 
The time comes and goes,
Cuts in with a sharp blade.
But here's someone in the shack,
To poison them with sausage.
 

Two gaints

Versions: #1
Don't move, you are really from stone.
And rocking - is not a salvation for you
If those two giants will quarrel,
The earth will start up to jump.
What's the hint,
 
For the grand eyes will not cool down.
They fire themselves from inside.
 
With fired the temples they move.
Aside from the idols of paper
Not annoy them to pleat their hands.
All the hope for those two giants,
(Who) have splashed their mind on the move.
Don't move! - will be as it's been.
They will pass us slowly
by
Following them, low Dust will rise up. -
- The Soul of World.
 

In the Hands of a Giant

It could have been easier,
It could have been better.
Fortune is in your hands,
I wish for better times.
The winds could've given you wings,
To the emerald seas,
To the snow pearls.
You thought it was going to be easy,
As-if so simple.
 
Again, and again, just listen,
We breathe with big gasps,
We are broken toys,
In the hands of a giant,
In the hands of a giant,
And again, and again, just listen, aha 1
 
Again, squealing and dancing,
And they hammer the drums 2
And they demand illusions,
Glasses dry.
And the voices of the iron trams,
The morning's breath.
You thought it'd be easy,
As-if it was so simple.
 
And again, again, just listen
We breathe with big gasps,
We are broken toys,
In the hands of a giant
In the hands of a giant.
 
And again, again, just listen
We breathe with big gasps,
We are broken toys,
In the hands,
In the hands
 
Whatever it is, is what it will be
Whatever it is, is what it will be,
It was before,
It was.
Went up without ashes
Went up without ashes.
Expectations high,
Expectations high,
The winds would've given wings
To the emerald seas,
To the snow pearls.
You thought it was going to be easy,
As-if so simple.
 
And again, again, just listen
We breathe with big gasps,
We are broken toys,
In the hands,
In the hands
 
And again, again, just listen
We breathe with big gasps,
We are broken toys,
In the hands,
In the hands
 
And again...
 

• 1. That works
• 2. I wanted to do 'drum the drums' but I think I'd get lynched for abusing English like that

Bad Weather Flower

Seems the sun still shines for us innately,
And it knocks on windows with its rays.
Seems the life is easy for us lately,
Why then does my heart not feel its blaze?
 
She is like bad weather flower,
Who will see it, who will pick?
She still looks for bliss, not power,
Still her chosen one she seeks.
 
So we'll melt away without pity
Under young spring shower droplets spray.
Having held back everything we dreamed of,
For the sacred wonder we don't wait.
 
She is like bad weather flower,
Who will see it, who will pick?
She still looks for bliss, not power,
For her only chosen, for her only true love...
 
Our path to nowhere out of nowhere
We shall pass, not calling anyone,
So this wonder will end in despair,
It will die, so easily undone...
 
© St.Sol @ LT: all rights reserved.

Radiance

You travel the roads
On the edge, where the sky is strict,
There, where the sky is not strict,
Maybe even waiting a long while for us there.
 
In a hurry to say goodbye
And in the distance the birds,
And in the distance the birds,
Will all sing together at once with us. 1
 
Maybe that it is you’re not you,
Or just maybe it is that I’m not myself 2
Here we go, like a drunk
Along empty roads.
 
But it isn’t strange, not at all 3
Suddenly we see the radiance,
Suddenly we see the radiance
Unearthly pure.
 
Yes, the radiance…
Yes, the radiance…4
 
So yourself should be with God
Passing the streets of the poor,
Passing the streets of the poor,
Without regret.
 
Come around during the dark of the evening,
So wander like a vagrant,
Yes you homeless wanderer
(Who will) suddenly give a shoulder. 5
 
Maybe that it is you’re not you,
Or just maybe it is that I’m not myself 2
Here we go, like a drunk
Along empty roads.
 
But it isn’t strange, not at all 3
Suddenly we see the radiance,
Suddenly we see the radiance
Unearthly pure.
 
Yes, radiance…
Yes, radiance…
Yes, radiance…
Yes, radiance...
 
Along the forbidden edge,
Where the sorrows of the unknown rest, 6
Where the sorrows of the unknown rest,
Maybe even waiting a long while for us there.
 
Will the sun glisten 7
And the distant birds,
Yes the distant birds,
Will all sing together at once with us.
 

• 1. Strange line, hard to interpret to be honest but I think that is right. I omitted “with” because it just sounds bizarre having it in there, and interpreted “with” as “with us” in the final line of this stanza.
• Yeah I know this was a bit of interpolation and slightly altering these two, but they would’ve sounded weird without it.
• Felt like it sounded better not repeating “It felt strange, it felt strange”
• 4. On face value I don’t think it is a stretch to say Piknik is a psychedelic fantasy slav-cult judging by their lyrics.
• 5. By this I think he is saying “Who will suddenly help” or “Lend a hand”.
• 6. “Rest” sounded more poetic than “are”
• 7. Or maybe my brain is tuned to “poetic and slightly more profound albeit longer and more complicated idioms” mode.

To me, music is a form of speech, and just like speech, music should be heard to all regardless of barriers in place. So by translating you're letting other people open up to a world that is alien to them, a world where many who listen to the Russian, German and French music I listen to, is not strange or weird because they do not understand what the singer is singing. By having translations music can share cultural and political ideas, or really just ideas, around without barrier, and allow for discussion over meaning and purpose instead of trivial pursuit.

The New Zealand Song

Getfor sorverzym hurra deway
Getfor sorverzym ylla kughay
Ordustur shurshur umma myrdyn
Getfor sorverzym ylla aihym
 
The flowers wither, grasses dry up,
The phthisic boy's chopping wood with an ax.
Sun went down under the rusty green,
With the lost leg [the] childhood was gone.
 
The flowers wither, grasses dry up,
The phthisic boy's chopping wood with an ax.
Yet during the last spring (we wish we're him!)
During the last spring he found a dime!
 
Quality RU-EN and EN-RU translations by Ironic Iron.
Bringing joy of Russian music and poetry to the world.
When sharing, please thank & credit: (c) St. Sol @ LT.

A Little Fire

The god of those who live it the shadow and give light -
That's just fire, nothing more, no,
That's just fire, what's sinful about it, eh?
The words run away, they're uninteligible anyway,
Hold me, hold me, hold me
So that I don't burst with laughter.
 
A little fire is the midway,
A little fire can save you
In the shine of lies.
 
Wonders are far away, and beyond the mirror window
There are no shadows, and the wild midday has brewed like the wine,
But it's just wine, what's sinful about it, eh?
What the soul treasured, you can't confiscate.
Hold me, hold me, hold me
So that I don't burst with laughter.
 
A little fire is the midway,
A little fire can save you
In the shine of lies.
 
And the fading sound is already hardly audible,
It's as pale as can be, but don't be silent,
For this is but a game, what's sinful about it, eh?
What the soul treasured, you can't confiscate.
Hold me, hold me, hold me
So that I don't burst with laughter.
 
A little fire is the midway,
A little fire can save you
In the shine of lies.
 

Money

Watching people go away
Is a poor fate
If people aren't just people,
If paople aren't just two.
 
And someone's insistent voice
Gives me the answer day and night long:
'He's got big money,
You don't have that.'
 
And the ground crumbles under my feet,
The silhouettes fade.
People turn into brass,
Into two shining coins.
 
And someone's insistent voice
Gives me the answer day and night long:
'He's got big money,
You don't have that.'
 
Two coins roll close,
If you shoot them from the side, you'll shoot both.
Two disks shining in the sun,
And the ground crumbles under my feet.
 
And someone's insistent voice
Gives me the answer day and night long:
'He's got big money,
You don't have that.'
 

Egyptian

Versions: #2
Seems like I...
Seems like I...
 
That what will never be
Can't be ruined or killed.
And what cannot be killed
Will forever exist on this Earth.
With a finger touch I'll
Break a narrow street aisle.
My soul, I set you free,
But please don't take from me
These light wings, 'cause it seems to me that
 
Seems like I'm an Egyptian,
And the sun and the heat're here with me.
And the sharp talons, scratching the welkin,
Are the claws of light Sphinx behind me.
 
Seems like I...
Seems like I...
 
Someone lost - you will find,
One kept mum - you declined,
One conceived an idea,
He would go on a tear
And [would] lose peace for good.
But my dream isn't new:
Grass till heavenly blue.
My soul, I set you free,
But please don't take from me
These light wings, 'cause it seems to me that
 
Seems like I'm an Egyptian,
And the sun and the heat're here with me.
And the sharp talons, scratching the welkin,
Are the claws of light Sphinx behind me.
 
Seems like I...
Seems like I...
 
That what will never be...
That what will never be...
 
Quality RU-EN and EN-RU translations by Ironic Iron.
Bringing joy of Russian music and poetry to the world.
When sharing, please thank & credit: (c) St. Sol @ LT.

DJ

Once on one of our town streets stood a merry house.
Tape recorder sang in there, spinning tapes to rouse.
Joyful, full of life DJ smiled like brewer's horse at play.
He's the soul of party night, slowly said without a slight:
'Just for you, grandpa,
There'll be Zappa.
And for you, baby,
ABBA - a wee bit.
And for you, young jock,
There'll be hard rock.'
 
But to this old merry house, villain came on back,
Threatened everyone with carnage, called for folk hopak.1
But the gathered common folks don't let him to run his hoax.
Having started fighting crowds, he behaved like hero proud,
Hurling tapes to every corner,
He crushed speakers with his forehead.
Some were clapping their hands and some were jumping out of skin.
So it all has turned up something like hopak with din.
 
We don't like to praise folks who behave like that.
But there was no boredom: that night didn't fall flat.
They all had a good time as they could, didn't sit,
Sacrificing hands, sacrificing feet.
Ta-da-da-day!
 

• 1. Hopak: national Ukrainian jumping folk dance.

Quality RU-EN and EN-RU translations by Ironic Iron.
Bringing joy of Russian music and poetry to the world.
When sharing, please thank & credit: (c) St. Sol @ LT.

A Doll with a Human Face

Versions: #2
The world is as if divided into two
Behind a blue window
Weeps quietly a sexless mannequin
A doll with a human face
 
The lonely nights
He asks the sky for one thing:
To make a fire burn in his heart
From the original spark
 
To make it sweet
To make it hurt
To repent afterwards
And so weeps the sexless mannequin
A doll with a human face
 
He will become a tumbleweed
He will wait for the fire of hope to die out
To exchange one glassy captivity
For a thousand of others
 
And while he is chained by silence
Behind a blue window
Weeps quietly the sexless mannequin
A doll with a human face
 

Romance Doubt

Calm down, the swells of excitement,
Get rest, lonely heart that lost all hope,
I'm crying, I'm hurting, my soul's grown so tired of estrangement!
 
I dream of a happy opponent,
He haunts me, persistent and fearsome,
My envy is burning, is boiling with malice in secret!
 
The sorrowful time will be over,
Again we'll embrace one another,
With passion and fervor the heart will pulsate, resurrected...
 
Quality RU-EN and EN-RU translations by Ironic Iron.
Bringing joy of Russian music and poetry to the world.
When sharing, please thank & credit: (c) St. Sol @ LT.

And Maybe It Was Not Me

Versions: #3
And maybe it was not me - so be still
But my heart pounds on by itself without me
And its sinews split asunder themselves
As though a scattering of light
But maybe it's so, or maybe not...
But maybe it's so, or maybe not...
 
And maybe it was not me - tell (me)
But the blood, it runs like a river amongst the rocks
And its vessels split asunder themselves
As though a scattering of light
But maybe it's so, or maybe not...
But maybe it's so, or maybe not...
 
And the floe and the fever will touch you - hold on, come to
A serene and simple hand flipping through the days
And its strands split asunder themselves
As though a scattering of light
But maybe it's so, or maybe not...
But maybe it's so, or maybe not...
 

A Giant

Versions: #2
If I had such hands, such forearms,
Forearms like ones of a giant,
I would fold them, put them down on my lap,
I would sit as calm as quiet sigh, as rock that's silent.
 
If I had such wings that could fly,
And would carry me around,
Without moment's hesitation
I would rip them off and throw to wild winds, winds unbound.
 
If I had such eyes that could see
Everything, not knowing any limits,
I would close them tightly-tightly,
And would sit in quiet, swaying my head slowly, losing count of minutes.
 
If you would burst out in laughter,
You braids playing with the wind gust,
I would fly and follow echo,
Chasing wondrous voice with wild thrust, with divine lust.
 
Quality RU-EN and EN-RU translations by Ironic Iron.
Bringing joy of Russian music and poetry to the world.
When sharing, please thank & credit: (c) St. Sol @ LT.

The Last of the Mohicans (S)

Those who dared go
To life's lust frontier
The door is open where
There're tinsel and cancan
He takes his time
As he's the last one
The last one of the Mohicans
 
Here, nothing's changed much
Dark world against light one
Go play around
Or from wounds wail out
He takes his time
As he's the last one
The last one of the Mohicans
 
He outshines none
Of the palest Paleface
And among others
There's a mightier giant ace
But this may be
That he's the last one
The last one of the Mohicans
 

To Glide Through The Air

Versions: #3
Yeah, it's easy to glide through the air,
Not leaving the soul anywhere,
Just stepping beyond threshold verge.
Yeah, gliding past empty streets,
Past strangers resembling pale saints in retreat, -
They are also tormented by snake roads' scourge.
 
Yeah, the break of the dawn's getting nigh.
Indeed, how I dare to fly,
Not feeling the weight of my chains.
Yeah, perhaps that's how the circle is closed,
And only copper strings got out of hand unopposed,
And they jingle in higher domains.
 
Yeah, the break of the dawn's getting nigh.
Indeed, how I dare to fly,
Not feeling the weight of my chains.
Yeah...
 
Quality RU-EN and EN-RU translations by Ironic Iron.
Bringing joy of Russian music and poetry to the world.
When sharing, please thank & credit: (c) St. Sol @ LT.

Just Vampire That's Been Smitten

Wondrous dream the world is seeing,
Pale streets changed in one broad sweep,
Just vampire that's been smitten
Once again won't fall asleep.
 
He is walking on the moonlight
To the park where night's at home,
Where behind wrought iron fencing
Girl is wandering alone.
 
Lo, her eyelids're slightly open,
Withered branch is in her hands,
Fevered blush remains in motion,
Dances on her cheeks, expands.
 
Blissful moment's getting closer,
Shadow's gone from lovely face.
For a blink two hearts find closure -
Longing hearts in fond embrace.
 
Who are they, what are they seeking?
To drink from sweet poison cup.
Till the dawn, embracing, clinging,
They will stand until breakup.
 
Quality RU-EN and EN-RU translations by Ironic Iron.
Bringing joy of Russian music and poetry to the world.
When sharing, please thank & credit: (c) St. Sol @ LT.

High Stakes Game

The money burns pockets,
The street lights abide,
And only the night knows
What you hide inside.
 
And only the night knows
In satin repose,
How city is playing
On strings of the soul.
It will grin and flout,
It will say: It's time!
High stakes game's about
To start on a dime.
 
The money burns pockets,
The street lights abide,
And only the night knows
What you hide inside.
The money burns pockets,
The street lights abide,
And only the night knows
What you hide, what you hide...
 
And only the night knows
How ghostlike are days,
They ain't drenched in bright paint,
But in bloody stains.
You got what you wanted:
Unhappy big time,
High stakes game's about
To start on a dime.
 
The money burns pockets,
The street lights abide,
And only the night knows
What you hide inside.
The money burns pockets,
The street lights abide,
And only the night knows
What you hide inside.
 
And only the night can
Besot without wine,
Of what crimes, what vile plan
It's guilty this time?
And you'll sway in doubt -
That means it is time,
High stakes game's about
To start on a dime.
 
The money burns pockets,
The street lights abide,
And only the night knows
What you hide inside.
The money burns pockets,
The street lights abide,
And only the night knows
What you hide inside.
 
Quality RU-EN and EN-RU translations by Ironic Iron.
Bringing joy of Russian music and poetry to the world.
When sharing, please thank & credit: (c) St. Sol @ LT.

Why?

Why should I always go till very endpoint,
Why should I always guess what waits ahead?
If you would want a joyride,
Smoke your last joint.
And if you'd want to be rich,
Steal instead.
 
The children play without getting tired,
What can the elders' wisdom give to them?
Their simple game leaves much to be desired:
To blossom now, tomorrow to succumb.
 
What is the point to be ornate and complex,
When simple joys deliver what you crave?
The fact is that you wouldn't bring no objects,
Lo! Nothing you could carry to the grave.
 
Quality RU-EN and EN-RU translations by Ironic Iron.
Bringing joy of Russian music and poetry to the world.
When sharing, please thank & credit: (c) St. Sol @ LT.